


Unexpected

by Coccinella



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Mpreg, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 03:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 192,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15986228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coccinella/pseuds/Coccinella
Summary: New discoveries, old threats.





	1. Chapter 1

Sideswipe shook his helm, trying to shake off his exhaustion as he stared at the Teletraan 1 terminal. Prowl, next to him, noticed from the corner of his optic. "Long night?"  
Sideswipe chuckled and ducked his helm. "You caught me," he said. "Nah, last night was fine. Prowler's recharging great."  
Prowl arched his optic ridges toward Sideswipe.  
Sideswipe grinned. "Prowler's really doing great. We don't even wake up at night anymore. When he gets hungry, he just nuzzles closer and one of us moves with him. We barely wake up, and he falls back into recharge halfway through his feeding anyway." Sideswipe shook his helm. "Our nights are great." His optics gleamed, brilliantly happy.  
Their nights together, as a family, were his favorite. There had never been a thought to not bring Prowler into their berth, and all three recharged cuddled together throughout the night. Prowler always snuggled closest to Sunstreaker, refusing to offline until he was wrapped up and tucked in next to Sunstreaker's neck. Sideswipe bracketed Prowler on the other side, his forehelm resting against Sunstreaker's and their hands joined over Prowler's backplates. Their nightly feedings were a breeze, and nothing beat the warm cuddling they both onlined to each morning. Prowler was smiles and happy babble when he onlined, and he loved to be wrapped up next to their plating. It was perfect bliss.  
"What's the situation?" Prowl transmitted the last of his older logs into the storage banks on Teletraan 1. The morning shift was just about to begin, and they were the only two on the Command Deck.  
Sideswipe scrunched his faceplates, biting his hip. Finally, he sighed. "I…" he began, trailing off. "I am having trouble recharging." He flicked at the terminal housing. "I have too much energy… and no way to burn it off." Sideswipe shrugged, glancing back at Prowl.  
Prowl's optic ridges arched as he stifled his small smile. "I see," he said simply. "If you recall, I did share some concerns about this recharging arrangement of yours." Prowl fixed his gaze on Sideswipe.  
"No, that's not it, Prowl." Sideswipe shook his helm. "Prowler isn't stopping us from anything. He's offline enough, and we can always put him in his mini-berth." Wheeljack had had a burst of creative genius following Prowler's emergence and had designed all manner of sparkling accoutrements that had never been standard issue on the Ark. They were still making do with odds and ends and what they had – their ammo bags, for one, were now their sparkling gear bags – but Wheeljack had been a huge help with everything they never knew they'd needed, such as the cone bottles, their small portable mini-berth for recharge naps, and several blankets that were softer than the standard medbay rags.  
Prowl was still staring at Sideswipe with a raised optic ridge, disbelief stretched across his faceplates. Prowl hadn't been entirely convinced of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's deeply-seated conviction that bringing Prowler into their berth was the best place for all of them. He had been especially concerned with the ramifications to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's relationship themselves, but the two had been too enamored with Prowler to listen at all.  
"I'm serious!" Sideswipe shoved playfully at Prowl's shoulder. "Prowler is not the problem!"  
"What is?"  
Sideswipe's laughter closed down quickly as he bit his lip. He chewed on it for a moment, looking at the decking. "I dunno," he said softer than before. "Probably me. I mean, Prowler's only four months old." He quirked his gaze back to Prowl uncertainly.  
"Sunstreaker is not as … troubled as you are?"  
Sideswipe sighed. For almost two months, he had been so captivated by Prowler, so wrapped up in his new responsibilities as a parent, and so entirely exhausted with everything that interfacing had been the last thing on his processor. It actually hadn't even been on his processor at all. One night, that all changed. He had been holding Sunstreaker from behind, Prowler resting on the berth on the other side of Sunstreaker, and his spike had had a sudden, raging interest in his brother. Sideswipe was nearly overwhelmed with the intense burn that had rocked through him, and his codpiece had instantly been more than entirely uncomfortable.  
It took a long time to force himself to calm down from that. Thankfully, his body didn't seize control every night, but as the days and nights wore on, and his brother's perfect presence was still right there next to him, enticing and gorgeous and spark-meltingly sexy, the charge in his circuits steadily continued to build. Now, more nights than not he struggled to keep his desire in check.  
Sunstreaker was not unawares. One exceedingly uncomfortable night, Sideswipe had popped his codpiece off and let his spike rise unencumbered, a stanchion in the darkness and a bitter betrayal of his charged-up body. He glared down at himself, his exhausted recharging brother lying next to him and cuddling their sparkling close, and refused to reward his body's treachery with self-service. That, unfortunately, did not do anything to help solve the problem, and his spike remained present and interested for what felt like hours. Sideswipe didn't know when Sunstreaker had onlined, but one minute he was glaring up at the ceiling of their quarters and the next Sunstreaker was staring down at him, confusion and irritation coloring his expression. Sideswipe had nearly yelped in surprise.  
At first, Sunstreaker didn't do anything to assist him. He grumbled at Sideswipe's condition, then flopped back down and fell back into recharge. Thankfully, the shock of Sunstreaker's catching him had zapped his systems, and Sideswipe was able to put himself back to rights shortly after. Several nights later though, his overly large singular problem was back.  
It had been about a month prior when Sunstreaker had rolled over one night and stroked Sideswipe roughly, bringing him to an embarrassingly quick overload. Sunstreaker wouldn't meet his gaze when it was over, and had instead rolled himself back around Prowler with his back to Sideswipe. Sideswipe, for his part, had been shocked out of his plating. Part of him hoped that that was the start of something happening between them once more. Another part of him hoped that this was the end of his embarrassing troubles.  
Of course, it wasn't either. Now, he just wanted Sunstreaker even more.  
Sideswipe sighed again. "I don't know, Prowl. I don't think so." He shook his helm, his good mood slipping away as his thoughts turned back to his brother's entirely absent desire toward him. "Prowl, it's getting so bad, I see the color yellow and I'm charged up in a second." Sideswipe snorted at his own foolishness.  
Prowl folded his arms across his chestplates. "Too bad for Bumblebee," he quipped.  
"Too bad for me!" Sideswipe wailed. His smile softened. "I just need to wait for Sunny to be ready. And I will. I'll wait as long as he needs." Sideswipe tried to force the good humor of his voice into his processor.  
Prowl saw through Sideswipe right away. "You two haven't talked about this, have you?"  
"How can you pick me apart?" Sideswipe's helm tipped back as he sighed. "No," he said, lowering his helm. "I'm just hoping the problem goes away."  
Prowl shook his helm slowly. It was so easy to read Sideswipe now that he knew about the truth about the twin brothers. It was all out there in the open now, so easy to read. Sideswipe's entire world was his brother, and now their sparkling, and when they were united and confident together, they were an unstoppable, immoveable force. When they were separated, emotionally, mentally, intellectually, it was as easy to see as blaring radars and shrieking visual alarms. Sideswipe's uncertainty, his hesitation, was the herald of their conflict.  
"You know that won't work, Sides." Prowl moved across the Command Deck, Sideswipe trailing after him. "You've got to talk to him. Wasn't that one of your promises you each made? Always talk to each other?"  
Sideswipe frowned at Prowl's words. "When are we supposed to talk? I'm back on duties almost full-time, and when I get back, Prowler needs to be played with, fed, washed and put to recharge. By the time he's down, we're ready to offline ourselves. When I'm not on shift, we're trying to do something together as a family. It's kinda hard to talk about interfacing while we're playing with Prowler." Sideswipe had tried, once, and hadn't been able to choke out the words.  
"Sounds like you two need some time alone." Prowl fixed Sideswipe with a pointed look.  
"Yeah… that'll never happen again." He threw a wry grin back at Prowl.  
"Why not? I'll watch Prowler for you." Prowl stopped, turning to face Sideswipe helm on. "I'll watch him all night long, in fact."  
"You serious?" Sideswipe stared at Prowl, surprised.  
"Of course. I enjoy spending time with Prowler and we get along very well. He likes me." Prowl's doorwings flicked upwards.  
"He adores you, actually."  
"I will watch him anytime that you two want."  
Sideswipe hesitated. "Well… I don't want to impose… You have your own life, and then there's Jazz…" Prowl was his friend now, but not so long ago Prowl had been his stern commanding officer. There was still a residual hesitancy there about asking Prowl for such a huge favor, despite their sparkling being named after him and Prowl literally being there for his emergence.  
Prowl shook his helm. "It is no imposition. I want to spend more time with Prowler. I'll be happy to watch him for you." Prowl frowned. "And what does Jazz have to do with anything?"  
Sideswipe shrugged, though he wisely said nothing. After a moment, he exhaled and nodded back to Prowl. "Alright. If you're sure you don't mind, I think that'd be a huge help, actually." Sideswipe's circuits zinged as he thought of the possibility of a night entirely free for him and his brother. "When do you want to do this?"  
"How about tonight?"  
Sideswipe started. "Tonight? Are you sure?"  
"I'd rather you two get this out in the open. I've seen when you guys don't talk…" Prowl trailed off, not needing to say any more. "I'm sure that I want to help, and I'm sure that I want to see Prowler. If I recall correctly, you have the day off tomorrow. Tonight is just fine."  
Of course, Prowl was correct. Slowly, Sideswipe nodded, a smile unfurling across his faceplates. "Alright… Alright, let's do this." He smiled wide, giving Prowl a thankful look. "Thank you, Prowl. I really appreciate this."  
Prowl smiled. "Not a problem, Sides."

***

"You don't understand, Ratchet," Sunstreaker ground out, frustration filling his tone. "This is not merely vanity!" Prowler shifted in his hold, wiggling to be let down to explore the medberth they were sitting on. Sunstreaker set him down, one hand resting on his backplates to help support Prowler's forward-leaning slump. Prowler's little fingers traced over the medberth surface, then banged haphazardly. A tiny slip of lubricant fell from Prowler's open mouth.  
Ratchet forced his attentions back to Sunstreaker, ostensibly his patient, though Ratchet wasn't having any of Sunstreaker's whines. "Sunstreaker, no. You're asking for a difficult and damaging surgery, one that requires a great deal of recuperation. You don't have time to be off your feet for weeks recovering." Ratchet motioned to Prowler, now reaching for Ratchet's berthside medcart. It was far too far away for his tiny reach, but still, Prowler tried.  
Sunstreaker pulled Prowler back into his lap, wiping away the dribble of lubricants and patted him on his back. Prowler stretched, reaching for the medcart again.  
"Besides, Sunny," Ratchet said, holding out his hand for Prowler to grasp. Prowler grabbed his finger and shook it, back and forth. "That surgery is only performed when there is catastrophic damage and the systems become inoperable. That's not nearly the case here at all."  
"So says you," Sunstreaker grunted, glaring. He huffed and looked down, staring at Prowler's small, grey helm. They wouldn't be able to paint him until his plating hardened fully, losing the malleable growth areas around his joints and seams. Prowler was constantly growing, and if they tried to paint him, they'd end up spending more time stripping and repainting than anything else.  
Prowler continued to shake and jerk at Ratchet's finger. More lubricants dribbled from Prowler's open mouth. Ratchet grabbed a clean rag off his medbay cart and wiped at Prowler's faceplates. Prowler frowned and turned away, trying to escape the wipe down. As much as Sunstreaker liked to be clean and enjoyed a warm wash, Prowler hated it. Bath time was the most difficult time of the evening for them all. Prowler wasn't entirely cooperative when it came being bathed, and in the beginning, had screamed horribly each time they had tried.  
"He's getting big," Ratchet chuckled faintly at Prowler's frown.  
Sunstreaker smoothed his hand down Prowler's helm and backplates before he shifted him across his legs and started to bounce him in his lap. Prowler bobbed up and down, faint sounds spilling from his vocalizer and rising and falling with his movements. "Yeah." Sunstreaker's tone was more morose than anything else. "Ratchet –" he tried again.  
"No, Sunny." Ratchet cut him off. "No. I don't see a need for this. I'm not going to do a risky surgery that will incapacitate you all for the sake of your vanity."  
Sunstreaker growled as he stood quickly, jumping from the berth and swooping Prowler back up into his arms. "You don't see a need for this!" Sunstreaker snapped. "You aren't me! You don't have to deal with what I have to deal with!" Sunstreaker stormed toward the door.  
"Sunny!"  
"Frag off!" Sunstreaker growled without turning around. Ratchet watched Prowler's small helm looking over Sunstreaker's shoulder, a thin trail of lubricants once again dribbling from his lips.

***

Optimus Prime watched his second and third in command across the Command Deck. He tried to be surreptitious about it, only looking sidelong as he stood in his office doorway, silently surveying the deck.  
Jazz and Prowl were talking softly to each other, Prowl standing tall and straight, his helm high and his doorwings arched back just so. Jazz stood slightly too close, his posture comfortably slouched with his hands on his hips. Prowl gestured down to the data pad in his hand, then up to the Teletraan terminal. They could be discussing the Ark, the crew, their shared duties, the gossip in the Rec Room. They could be discussing anything, work related.  
Or, they could be planning their next date.  
Prime struggled to stifle his smile as he looked away for decorum's sake. It had nearly fried his processor to shutdown when he had first heard of Jazz and Prowl's first date. He had passed it off as a random, isolated occurrence, something the two ended up doing out of a desire to bury past insults and grievances and strive forward together anew.  
Oh, how anew. Prime's quick dismissal of their date was followed by a steady stream of observable flirtation and romantic interactions between the two mechs. His most quarrelsome former officers were - unbelievably - dating, and they showed no signs of slowing down.  
Prime twisted back around just in time to catch Jazz beaming at Prowl, a wide, warm smile stretched over his faceplates. Prowl's doorwings flickered, twittering slightly behind his back, before he said something obviously meant for Jazz's audials only. Jazz reared back, his laughter spilling out over the deck before he clapped Prowl on the shoulder. The touch lingered for a moment too long. Prowl gazed up at him, again, a moment too long, his doorwings faintly fluttering. Prime inhaled, holding his breath.  
The moment was broken by Ironhide's arrival, the Command Deck doors whooshing open. As usual, Ironhide's optics slid sideways, coldly glaring at Prowl across the deck. Prowl stared back sharply, not flinching from Ironhide's steel-forged wrath.  
Prime sighed, waving to catch Ironhide's attention. The weapons specialist turned and headed his way, leaving a wide swath between Prowl and Jazz and the rest of the deck. His sour expression remained stretched over his faceplates.  
"We're all set, Prime," Ironhide said. "Our travel arrangements are good to go."  
"We leave next week?"  
Ironhide nodded. Prime motioned for him to precede him into his office, but glanced back toward Jazz and Prowl. He'd really never would have thought to have seen the day.

***

"I think Prime is watching us," Jazz murmured, his gaze remaining on Prowl's data pad.  
"Is that so?" Prowl shifted, ever aware of Jazz's electric presence. His comfortable, relaxed slouch was leaning just slightly into his personal space. It was intoxicating, magnetic, and Prowl wanted to just lean himself back against Jazz.  
"Yeah," Jazz murmured, glancing up at the Teletraan terminal. "Probably 'cause you're lookin' so good today." Jazz's small small smirk teased at his lips as he met Prowl's surprised gaze.  
Prowl's doorwings flicked high. These compliments had been increasing. Jazz's entire demeanor had subtly shifted through their dates, moving from being friends to their uncertain orbital-style dance, each too afraid to push further than they dared. Now though, Jazz was peppering Prowl with his trademark charm, laying out little compliments and thoughtful surprises for Prowl to stumble into. Prowl had seen Jazz's full-watt charm at work before, with others, but being the recipient of said charm was remaking his world in interesting, delightful, Jazz-shaped ways.  
Of course, the fact that he could dish it right back and make Jazz smile in that way made his entire world spin on its axis.  
"Careful," Prowl said softly, scrolling down his data pad. "I may just have to prove to you how irresistible you truly are." He paused, looking into Jazz's optics. "Thoroughly prove."  
Jazz reared back and laughed out loud, his hand rising to Prowl's shoulder. The touch was electric, spiking throughout Prowl's body. They shared a warm smile, the silence stretching between them just slightly too long.  
Those, too, were new. Never before had they joked about such physicality. In the quieter moments of the night, or when he was bored, or in truly inopportune times – a meeting with Prime – Prowl would get flashes of imagery and fantasy of what making love to Jazz would be like. His circuits ran hot around Jazz, a slowly-building desire coiling tight within.  
"Are ya free tonight?" Jazz stepped back and turned toward the Teletraan display.  
Prowl frowned and shook his helm. "Sorry, no. How about tomorrow? I've just offered my assistance to the twins tonight."  
Jazz shot him a confused frown. "Tomorrow's fine, but what's up? Everythin' alright with Prowler?"  
"Prowler is fine. The twins need some time alone." Prowl shot Jazz a pointed look, one optic ridge rising.  
Jazz smiled. "Sparklings do eat up a lot of your time."  
"But they're worth it." Prowl smiled, the corners of his lips turning upward softly. Prowler was a true blessing, despite all the horrible drama and pain that surrounded his sparking. "Sideswipe is worried about Sunstreaker. I told them I'd watch Prowler for the night and let them work it out."  
Jazz nodded again, a sly smile stretching across his face. "Remember that plateau we drove out to 'bout a month back?"  
Prowl frowned at the non sequitur. "Yes." That had been a spectacular date, and they'd talked till long in the night about the war and all the jumbled, overpowering, and ugly feelings they'd bottled up since. Prowl hadn't spilled his processor or bared his spark to a mech in that way in millennia. He'd never wanted the night to end.  
"It was a pretty inspirin' place, wouldn't you say?" Jazz asked, a knowing glint shining from his visor. "What say you to sending the twins out there tonight?"  
Prowl smiled findly back at Jazz.

***

Sunstreaker's lips quirked up as he watched his sparkling. Prowler was lying on his belly on his play blanket, energon cubes painted to look like toy blocks scattered all around. He was banging one against the ground, the muffled thumps echoing throughout their cabin. Prowler kept turning to Sunstreaker, a happy smile spread over his face, clearly pleased with himself. Lubricants dribbled down his chin, denta-plate-less grin wide and warm.  
Sunstreaker chuckled once and nodded, his proud and happy feelings pouring over his spark and to his sparkling. They still shared a spark link, or rather, the three of them shared a spark link. After one full day of being with Prowler, Sideswipe had felt the first feelings of his sparkling in his spark. It had been too powerful for words, and the three spent hours cuddling close and getting to know one another. Ratchet didn't have an explanation for it. Most sparklings didn't maintain spark links with their carriers, and never with their sparking parent. His best guess was that it had something to do with their already-not-understood twin bond, itself a consequence of split sparks residing in two individual bodies.  
Sunstreaker glanced back down to his sketch pad, trying to tease out the curve of Prowler's cheek with his stylus against the screen. Prowler was already back to his blocks, banging and sliding them around in his limited way. Nearby lay his stuffed Prime toy, battered and drooled on.  
A quick check of his chronometer showed that the duty shift had ended for the day. He'd be back shortly, and Prowler knew it. Prowler dropped his cube and grinned, a cheerful full body wiggle snaking through his body. His tiny feet kicked out as he vocalized a low, happy noise from his throat. Sideswipe was his favorite playmate.  
Sunstreaker was Prowler's world. Sunstreaker was the mech he felt safest with, the mech whose arms he had to be in to fall offline for the night, the mech who he always turned to first for assurance. Sunstreaker was the center of Prowler's world, but Sideswipe was his best playmate. Sideswipe’s menagerie of funny faces, amusing sounds and physical tickles, raspberries and new variations on peek-a-boo had Prowler in squeals of laughter and happy giggles for hours. His legs would kick and squirm, his hands balled into tiny fists that he waved around without pattern as he stared upward from his back, always delighted at Sideswipe's games and play.  
For the first month, Prowler didn't do much. He recharged near constantly, demanded to be fed and then recharged some more. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had rearranged their entire lives around being able to feed and provide for Prowler on demand. When Prowler wanted, and what Prowler wanted, they provided, be that a new tiny tankful of energon, a gentle hold, a warm blanket, or a safe, quiet place to recharge. Prowler was a lazy feeder at first, and he didn't latch onto Sunstreaker or Sideswipe's feeding lines securely enough. He had a great deal of trouble with air bubbles in his tanks, which led to crying and fussing, until they all figured out how to get him to latch on securely. Initially, all he wanted to do was recharge, preferably undisturbed in Sunstreaker's arms.  
Prowler responded beautifully to their undivided, unconditional love and care. The second month rolled around, and then the third, and then the fourth, and Prowler was a happy, easy-going sparkling. Aside from bath time, of course.  
Right on time, Sideswipe burst through their door. His optics first fell to Sunstreaker, a dazzling, brilliant smile on his faceplates, and then to Prowler, stretched out on his blanket on his belly and grinning as wide as his tiny face could. Prowler hefted one of his energon cubes into the air, arching his back to stretch high.  
"Is that for me, Prowler?" Sideswipe crossed the room and dropped to the side of Prowler's blanket, right next to Sunstreaker. He took the proffered energon cube with a wide smile.  
Prowler wiggled, grunts and happy noises pushing from his vocalizer as he squirmed on his belly. Sideswipe leaned over to Sunstreaker and dropped a lingering kiss to his cheek. The thought of Sunstreaker all to himself later that evening was almost too overwhelming to think about. Sideswipe shivered as he pulled away, and Sunstreaker threw him a confused look.  
"I missed you," Sideswipe said softly, a warm smile playing over his face.  
Sunstreaker smiled back thinly, his lips barely turning up. For him, it was remarkable. "We did too." Sunstreaker motioned back to Prowler. Their sparkling was reaching for Sideswipe, trying to wiggle himself forward as best he could to get to his parents. He wasn't making any progress.  
"And what did Bug do today?" Sideswipe's voice changed, pitched higher as he dove down next to Prowler, shaking his helm in Prowler's face. "Did Bug have a good day?" Somewhere, and no one quite remembered, Sideswipe had started calling Prowler Bug. The nickname had stuck.  
Prowler squealed with laughter, twisting and hiding his face from Sideswipe's, now rubbing against his own. Sideswipe sneaked in a kiss as he flopped to his side, pulling Prowler into his arms as he popped open his feeding line. Sunstreaker had worked to push Prowler's evening feeding back to when Sideswipe returned. Sideswipe loved the connection, and it gave the two a few moments to connect and unwind together.  
"How was your day?" Sunstreaker asked softly.  
Sideswipe shrugged. "Fine. Nothing much happened." He smiled. "I thought about you all day."  
Sunstreaker grunted. Sideswipe turned back to Prowler, making faces at him and getting him to giggle.  
Playtime lasted over an hour, until Prowler began to wane. "Alright, Bug," Sideswipe said, pulling Prowler up into his arms as he stood. "Time for a bath." Prowler frowned before pitching his helm against Sideswipe's chestplates, burrowing his face against the metal.  
Sunstreaker set aside his sketch pad, a new outline of Prowler and Sideswipe, side-by-side and helm-to-helm slowly being worked on. "I'll set everything up," Sunstreaker murmured, dropping a quick kiss to Prowler's helm as he passed. His hand dragged along Sideswipe's hip and backplates before he pulled down Prowler's small tub, a converted wheel well. Sunstreaker set up the tub on the table in front of their couch, then moved off to gather up the energon cube-blocks Prowler and Sideswipe had been playing with. He folded up the blanket and watched as Sideswipe made a game out of lowering Prowler into the tub, swinging and zooming him from side to side. Thankfully, this time, Prowler didn't howl as soon as he was sat down.  
Sunstreaker sat back and watched Sideswipe as he quickly washed Prowler. His spark swelled, emotions he hadn't ever thought he'd be able to feel or experience tumbling throughout his being. The image, like so many others, crystallized in his processor. Sideswipe poured a small stream of water, cupped from his hand, over Prowler's helm, scrubbing softly at his faceplates and making soft sounds and his ever-present funny faces. Sunstreaker almost smiled.  
Still… darkness clouded his thoughts at times. Sunstreaker frowned as he watched Sideswipe pull Prowler from the tub. His optics lingered over his brother's arms, the long lines of his body and the curves of his plating. He turned away quickly, busying himself with cleaning up after a full day of taking care of Prowler.  
Sideswipe was rubbing Prowler down, drying him gently with a soft towel when their door chime sounded. "Right on time," Sideswipe said slyly. He cast a shy smile to his frowning brother as he answered the door.  
"Hello there," Prowl smiled softly at Prowler.  
Prowler yawned as he nuzzled Sideswipe's neck, his dim optics staring at Prowl as the SIC stepped into their quarters.  
"Prowl," Sunstreaker said, still frowning. "What's wrong?"  
Prowl threw Sideswipe a pointed look. "Your brother didn't tell you?"  
Sunstreaker instantly turned his full attention to Sideswipe. Sideswipe's spark skipped a pulse briefly. "Sunny, Prowl's offered to watch Prowler tonight, so that we can have some time together." He smiled at his brother over Prowler's backplates, hoping he didn't sound as terrified as he felt.  
Sunstreaker stared back without moving, without speaking. He turned to Prowl. "No. We don't need your help. Sorry to bother you."  
"Sunny!" Sideswipe's hurt tone echoed around their quarters, his optics flashing.  
"It's not an imposition," Prowl insisted. "I want to spend time with Prowler."  
Sunstreaker swallowed. Slowly, his optics drifted back to his brother's. Sideswipe was patting Prowler's sleepy backplates, his pained optics staring at him over their sparkling's helm. Sunstreaker exhaled, his shoulders slumping fractionally. Prowl had spent so much time with them when Prowler was barely emerged. He knew how to care for Prowler, and there was no one they trusted with their sparkling more, not even Ratchet. Leaving him with Prowl wasn't an issue. "Alright," he said softly. "Alright." His voice came out sounding more like a grumble.  
Sideswipe flinched. It was not the most ringing endorsement of their date night.  
Prowl ignored it all. He reached for Prowler, nearly offline in Sideswipe's arms. Prowler's optics flared as he was moved, onlining as he perked up in Prowl's arms.  
Sideswipe chuckled lightly. "He's going to be online for a while now. Hope you can play with him again."  
Prowl smiled and tickled Prowler's round, soft cheek before bouncing him in his arms. "Of course I can." His quarters had a set of painted energon cubes as well, the first rudimentary toys they had created for the first sparkling. Having a set for himself made it easier to have the twins over with Prowler during the past few months. The rest of the Ark still wasn't too keen on having the twins out and about and socializing with them just yet. Prowl's invites for energon and playtime were some of the only social contact they had.  
Prowl looked up, fixing both Sideswipe and Sunstreaker with his gaze. "Have fun tonight," he said, inclining his helm slightly. "Don't worry about a thing." He smiled at Sunstreaker before slipping out, Prowler in his arms.  
Sideswipe turned awkwardly to Sunstreaker. "I planned a special outing for us." His voice was quiet, and his stood apart from his brother. He'd taken Jazz and Prowl's suggestion to head out for their plateau to spark and had planned an entire evening around the two of them. Secreted away in his subspace were two cubes of energon and their ore additives. They both had to supplement with the ores until Prowler was no longer feeding from their systems. Unfortunately, they couldn't have high grade, but just being alone together should be intoxicating enough.  
Sunstreaker looked away, every gear in his body tensing. "Let's get going then," he grumbled.

***

The plateau was breathtaking.  
Empty desert stretched below, sand and wilderness and scrubland as far as the optic could see. Above, the stars glistened, pinpricks and spatters of light and twinkling energy that encased them on all sides. The inky blackness surrounded them both, wrapping all around, stretching from one edge of the plateau to the other. It felt like being back in outer space, surrounded on all sides by nothingness and starlight, suspended in space on an island of life.  
Sideswipe sighed as he sat down, stretching out his long legs haphazardly and leaning back on his hands. A sloppy smile spread out over his face as he stared at his brother, still standing.  
Sunstreaker stared upward at the sky, a serene expression on his face. Sideswipe smiled. At least Sunstreaker liked the plateau. "Sit with me?" he asked softly. He pulled out their energon cubes and mixed the additives, setting one out for Sunstreaker.  
Sunstreaker grunted and lowered himself down. His hands rested backwards as well, and he sat nearly plating to plating with Sideswipe. After their drive out into the desert, it felt great to just stretch and relax.  
Sideswipe leaned his helm sideways onto Sunstreaker's shoulder. "It's beautiful out here," he said again, still soft.  
Sunstreaker nodded slowly. It was beautiful, and quiet, and perfectly relaxing. "You were good with Prowler tonight. In the bath." Sunstreaker tried to look at Sideswipe, but failed. Sideswipe's helm remained on his shoulder. "He didn't fuss at all."  
Sideswipe beamed, a happy thrill rushing through him. "I just try to make everything fun for him," he sighed.  
"I noticed. He adores you, and your playtime."  
"Not as much as he adores you, Sunny." He rubbed his helm against Sunstreaker's plating, nuzzling his neck gently. Sunstreaker finally relented, resting his helm against Sideswipe's and sighing softly as well.  
They talked together for the next hour, idle chit chat about the Ark and Prowler. Neither moved from their position, and they remained resting against each other, sipping at their energon.  
Finally, Sunstreaker shifted, sitting back up and letting the kinks in his neck unwind. Sideswipe sat cross-legged, facing his brother. Sunstreaker wouldn't meet his gaze. He swallowed, finally speaking again. "I think I want to try and go back on duty sometime…Only half-duties though," he said softly, his voice trailing away. He glanced quickly at Sideswipe.  
Sideswipe nodded, smiling. "Okay," he said. "We can make that work." Sideswipe had gone back on duty after two months of being entirely off duty and with Prowler and Sunstreaker full time. The only reason he had gone back on duty was the promotion offered to him thanks to Ironhide's temporary leaving the Ark. Trailbreaker was promoted to the Senior Enlisted, and Sideswipe was offered Trailbreaker's old job of Defensive Strategist. He was off his old troublesome squad, away from their old friends, and working under Prowl himself. The arrangement was perfect. Sideswipe accepted after long talks with Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker had encouraged him to accept it, though no one was pressuring either of them to return to duties. Indeed, at times, it felt as if the rest of the Ark would prefer they faded away to nothing.  
Sunstreaker spent all his days and nights with Prowler. He loved his sparkling, loved him with a depth of feeling he hadn't known existed. A smile, a gurgle of laughter, a warm cuddle… Sunstreaker felt entirely weak, but he had to admit that he was utterly lost.  
Still… Sunstreaker could never let go of the rubrics and metrics he had always measured himself against. He was supposed to be the best, better than everyone, and all he was now, at the end of the day, was a drool catcher. He was utterly unproductive in a community where they all had to pitch in, all had to perform their duties, to survive. He hated feeling useless, and worse than that, hated being blamed for being useless.  
"You don't think that's wrong?" Sunstreaker's other fear was abandoning Prowler. Even now, knowing that Prowler was safe with Prowl, one of the only mechs he trusted, Sunstreaker's spark still screamed for his sparkling.  
"No, Sunny, I don't think that's wrong at all. Why would it be?" Sideswipe frowned.  
"Prowler… I should be taking care of him. Ratchet said…"  
Ratchet had said very early on at one of their first sparkling exams that either Sunstreaker or Sideswipe, or both even, would have to assume full time care giving roles for their sparkling. They'd sparked in an environment that didn't have any support systems for parents, and thus, the parents were it, all the sparkling had.  
Of course, right after that, Ratchet had volunteered to help with Prowler.  
Sideswipe reached for Sunstreaker's hand. "I can stay with him. I'll take care of him, if you want to do something. We're in this together, Sunny." Sideswipe smiled lopsided at his brother.  
Sunstreaker held Sideswipe's gaze. Finally he grunted, his lips quirking up slightly as he squeezed Sideswipe's hand. "Thanks," he murmured. "I need to think about it some more… but," Sunstreaker swallowed. "I'm… glad you're okay with it."  
Sideswipe beamed. "I'm okay with everything you want to do." Sideswipe hesitated, but scooted forward, closer to his brother. Their plating brushed as Sideswipe settled next to him. "I love you," he whispered, leaning in and brushing his lips against Sunstreaker's.  
Sunstreaker melted into his brother's touches. Sideswipe gasped around their kiss, deepening it and sliding his glossa out to tease Sunstreaker's lips. Slowly, Sunstreaker's hand rose, cupping Sideswipe's helm gently.  
In an instant, they were fierce, all restraint forgotten, removed, and Sideswipe was gripping Sunstreaker's helm in both of his hands, pushing his lips and glossa against his brother's as if he could climb within his body. Sunstreaker responded furiously, sucking and nipping at his brother's glossa and lips. Their denta plates scrapped against each other as they warred for dominance.  
"Sunny…" Sideswipe moaned, his optics dim. His hand reached down, stroking up Sunstreaker's smooth, golden thigh. The plating was heated, warm against his touch. Sideswipe whimpered, his lips working over his brother's as his hand trailed higher.  
Sunstreaker went rigid, stiffening and twisting himself away. He broke their kiss roughly and pushed Sideswipe away. Sideswipe stumbled, off balance, and stared in confusion at Sunstreaker.  
"Sunny?" Sunstreaker shot Sideswipe a harsh glare. "What's wrong?" Cold shots of panic began to invade Sideswipe's processor, snaking around his spark.  
"Leave me alone," Sunstreaker grumbled, staring out across the desert.  
"Sunny!" Sideswipe reached for his brother.  
Sunstreaker jerked back. "Why do you keep pushing me?" His voice ground out, growling through gritted denta as his optics burned. "It's just all about the 'facing with you, isn't it?"  
Sideswipe reared back, physical pain slapping across his spark. "I'm not pushing you." Sideswipe had tried to hide his problem from his brother for as long as he could. "I miss you, Sunny. I want to hold you again!"  
Sunstreaker pushed himself to his feet. "No, you want to frag." He growled and turned away. "I know you've got your spike out every night. What are waiting for, me to roll over and fall onto it?" He whipped around, piercing Sideswipe with electric rage.  
Sideswipe's vocalizer shorted. He stared up at his brother, unable to move, unable to stand. Where had this rush of rage come from? Sideswipe's spark sank. "No... Sunny…" Sideswipe voice trailed off. "Why are you saying this?"  
Sunstreaker turned away, not speaking. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, his forearms shaking with barely suppressed emotions. "I'm going back," he grumbled, spitting his words over his shoulder before dropping into his alt mode. His engine roared, and he screamed away, leaving only a small hail of pebbles and sand behind him.  
Sideswipe watched his brother's taillights disappear into the darkness. Numb shock settled deep within his spark.

***

Sunstreaker wouldn't meet Sideswipe's gaze when Sideswipe finally trudged back into their quarters. Sideswipe had driven back slowly, trying to keep the worst of his agony at bay.  
Sunstreaker's legs were bouncing, a too-fast rhythm jerking against the decking as he sat at their couch, barely restrained energy bleeding out of him through the clenching of his cables and the quivering of his leg and foot against the deck.  
"Where's Prowler?" Sideswipe asked softly.  
"It's too late," Sunstreaker growled. "Prowler's already offline and so is Prowl." He inhaled shakily, his hands pressing together. "He's not going to be with us tonight."  
Groaning, Sideswipe's helm tipped back. Primus, but he knew how to screw everything up with Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker's world revolved around Prowler, and on top of enraging his brother tonight, he'd arranged for Prowler to be gone all night long as well. Granted, Sideswipe was supposed to be sending Sunstreaker to the peaks of ecstasy all night long, but he supposed that in Sunstreaker's processor, having Prowler with him easily outweighed being with Sideswipe.  
Sideswipe sat down in front of Sunstreaker on the low table before the couch. Sunstreaker's optics flicked to his, narrowing to slits.  
"Talk to me, Sunstreaker," Sideswipe whispered. "We promised we'd always talk to each other. Talk to me now. Something's wrong." Sideswipe's hands gripped themselves, his own anxiety coursing through his body.  
"There's nothing to say," Sunstreaker spat out. "You want to frag and I don't."  
"I want to make love to you Sunny. I want to hold you. I want to feel close to you. I miss you." Sideswipe swallowed, watching Sunstreaker's faceplates contort to a sneer.  
"I can't! Don't you understand? I can't!" Sunstreaker shouted, his control slipping.  
"I will wait for you, as long as it takes, for you to heal." Sideswipe leaned forward, reaching for Sunstreaker. "Ratchet said your valve would heal in a month or two. It's been almost five months. Is something wrong?"  
Sunstreaker's optics narrowed. "I don't need you to tell me that I'm broken," he hissed.  
"I didn't say that!" Sideswipe cried, frustration racing through him. No matter what he said, everything was twisted around. "Do you even want me anymore? Do you want me to be close to you? Do want me to hold you, even?" He shook his helm, slumping backwards.  
Sunstreaker looked away.  
Neither spoke for a long moment.  
Finally, Sideswipe sighed, his helm hanging down between his shoulders. "I'll stop," he whispered. "I'll stop … everything." His hand waved through the air, trying to encompass all of his love for Sunstreaker. "I'm sorry," he muttered, walking away.  
"Wait."  
Sunstreaker's strangled voice froze Sideswipe. He dropped down in front of his brother. "Talk to me," he whispered, reaching for Sunstreaker's hands. Sunstreaker balled his hands into fists, refusing to let Sideswipe snake their fingers together. Sideswipe stubbornly kept his hands on Sunstreaker anyway, stroking his thumbs over the backs of Sunstreaker's fists and holding his gaze.  
Sunstreaker couldn't maintain it, and he looked away as he dragged in a deep inhale, a rush of painful air. "You don't want me," Sunstreaker finally said, almost too low to be heard.  
"What?" Sideswipe frowned, disbelief and confusion stretched across his face. "I want you more than anything."  
"No… You want what you remember. I'm…" Sunstreaker shook his helm. Shame poured from his optics, overbright and streaked with pain. "I am broken." His brother would never want what Sunstreaker was now, not when he could have anyone, everyone else.  
Worry seized at Sideswipe's spark. "What happened?" he whispered. "What's wrong?"  
"Prowler happened," Sunstreaker spat. He swallowed, watching as Sideswipe's frown grew deeper, more confused. Frustration filled Sunstreaker's spark, mixing with his anxious pain and dread. "I'm the only mech on board who's had a sparkling," Sunstreaker growled, gritting his denta. "Any of the others, any of your other lovers –"  
Sideswipe's optics flared. "Sunny!"  
"They're not broken!" Sunstreaker's voice ground over the words. "Their valves aren't broken," he grunted. "Why would you want me when you can have them?"  
Sideswipe optics burned. "Sunstreaker," he began tightly, trying to control himself. "I do not have lovers." His voice was barely contained. "I only love you. I have only ever loved you. And I love you for all the reasons that have nothing to do with your valve." Sideswipe rose, his hands falling to either side of Sunstreaker's body on the couch as he leaned in close to Sunstreaker's faceplates. "There has only ever been one valve that I've ever desired. That's yours."  
"It's not the way you like it," Sunstreaker whispered, holding Sideswipe's burning optics. "I'm not what you want anymore." Sunstreaker looked down, unable to keep his helm up.  
Sideswipe stared at Sunstreaker's downcast helm. "Sunny…" he whispered, leaning closer and brushing his helm against his brother's. "It's never been about your body. It's because it's you that I am making love to." His lips dropped kisses along Sunstreaker's plating.  
Sunstreaker looked up, glare still marring his features. "I asked Ratchet for a valve replacement."  
Sideswipe frowned and shook his helm. "No, Sunny, please don't do that." He swallowed and leaned in closer, trying to hold Sunstreaker's angry gaze. "Do you think I didn't already know that your valve would be effected?"  
Sunstreaker frowned, looking up in surprise. He stared warily at Sideswipe.  
"I watched you bring Prowler through emergence, Sunny." Sideswipe's optics glazed over, shining brightly. "I watched our sparkling emerge from within you." He smiled at Sunstreaker, cherishing the memory, even for all the confusion, terror, and rushes of emotion that had threatened to offline the two of them that day. "Of course that's going to change your body."  
Sunstreaker stared at his brother. He was terrified, utterly terrified that he'd be undesirable to his brother now. That Sideswipe wouldn't be attracted to him, and that he'd begin to look elsewhere for his interfacing needs once more. Desire thrummed through him, but it was tempered by fear.  
"Let me show you, Sunny," Sideswipe whispered. "Let me love you. Trust me." Slowly, he leaned forward, never taking his optics from his brother's as he leaned in for a gentle kiss. "I love everything about you," he whispered again, his words and breaths brushing over Sunstreaker's lips as he hovered, not moving, just in front of him.  
Neither moved, staring into each other's optics. Sideswipe stayed kneeling on the floor, his entire body screaming, begging, for an affirmation in a kiss. Finally, Sunstreaker groaned and pitched forward, pressing into Sideswipe's furiously. Sideswipe melted into his brother's touch, his hands once again rising to cup his brother's face. He pushed forward, nearly climbing into his brother's arms as he pressed their chests together.  
Sunstreaker gasped, breaking their kiss as Sideswipe's hands roamed down his chestplates. "Sideswipe…"  
"Please let me love you," Sideswipe whispered, peppering Sunstreaker's face with kisses before nuzzling at his helm fins. "If you want me. If you want this. Let me show you I love you too."  
Shakily, Sunstreaker nodded, turning his face to press more of Sideswipe's warm, perfect lips against his plating. His body shivered, electric shocks traveling down his backstruts at the touches. It had been so, so long since they had come together. Sunstreaker had missed this desperately.

***

Much later, they collapsed, panting, their sparks slowly falling back to their own bodies, tendrils dragging out over each other's chestplates. Hands, legs, helms, and sparks were intertwined, and neither one knew where Sunstreaker began and Sideswipe ended. They didn't much care either.  
"Wow," Sideswipe murmured, still stunned each time. It never, ever grew old. "Promise me you won't replace your valve?"  
Sunstreaker nodded.  
They shared one last, flickering smile, dim optics powering down forcefully as they dropped into recharge together. Sideswipe's helm turned, resting against Sunstreaker's, and they stayed wrapped up together for the rest of the night cycle.

***

Prowl padded softly down the Ark's corridors, heading to the Rec Room. He was running a bit late this morning, but that was just fine. His steps were quiet, and he - and his passenger - much preferred the stillness of the empty corridors. The Rec Room was going to be noisy, as usual, but he hoped that it would be manageable. Shifting the bundle in his arms gently, Prowl reached out to palm open the Rec Room doors. The loud din of voices within vibrated through the heavy plating.  
All sound instantly stopped as Prowl strode in. Mechs' optics flashed and helms whipped around, staring at their SIC as their vocalizers ground to a halt. Static shorted through the Rec Room. Shock played through every mechs' optics as they took in the sight.  
Prowl ignored everyone. He crossed to the energon dispenser across the room, carefully collecting a cube one-handed. He didn't want to disturb the bundle gently nustled in his arms. Prowl pivoted slowly and glanced around the room for an empty table. There, one tucked back into the corner, but he'd have to cross through the entire room to get there. Of course.  
Jazz tipped his cube and nodded toward Prowl in greeting, a sly smile on his face. Prowl nodded back, and crossed the Rec Room quickly, just before Prowler's small optics onlined and he shifted in Prowl's gentle arms.  
Prowl shifted Prowler slowly, untucking him from the blankets and the sleepy cuddle Prowler naturally folded into against his chestplates and curling him into his arms. Prowler's optics flickered as he glanced around, and his tiny fists reached for each other in a small grasp. Prowl fumbled in his subspace for a moment before he pulled out the smaller sparkling feeding cone that Wheeljack had made. A soft mesh nub, not unlike the ends of Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's natural feeding lines, was attached to the conical bottle, which was filled with ore-enriched energon. Prowl shook it gently as Prowler's optics fixed to the cone bottle. His mouth opened, waiting.  
The Rec Room was still silent, still watching Prowl. Most mechs hadn't moved, aside from the turn of their helms as they followed Prowl and Prowler's movements across the Rec Room. It was quiet enough to hear Prowler's soft coo and gasp as he wriggled for his energon.  
Heavy, shocked gazes flashed around the room. Most mechs still hadn't seen Prowler, even four months after his emergence. The twins still kept entirely to themselves and the Ark still preferred it that way. That didn't stop the wild curiosity from running rampant through the crew over their sparkling, however.  
Lowering the cone bottle to Prowler's smiling features, Prowl tried to suppress his own happy grin. Prowl hadn't hesitated for a micron when he'd offered to help Sideswipe.  
Prowler's face scrunched up and he jerked backwards as his first sucks pulled the energon from his bottle. Prowl stroked his finger down Prowler's cheek, trying to comfort him. The bottle was only a minimal replacement for either of his parent's direct feeding. The energon couldn't taste as good, nor be as warm, as when directly fed from either of their tanks. Still, Prowler resumed his sucking, albeit less enthusiastically, his hands still clutched together on his small chestplates.  
"Ain't this a sight." Jazz smiled as he slid around the table and sat next to Prowl and Prowler. Prowler's optics caught his movement, and he twisted on his back, trying to glance at Jazz and not break his lips' hold on his bottle. Jazz grinned at his contortions.  
"Good morning, Jazz," Prowl said softly. Jazz's hand reached out, one finger tickling along Prowler's round cheek. Prowler smiled around his bottle, a small dribble of energon spilling down his chin.  
"How'd everything go last night?" Jazz sipped his cube as he turned his attentions back to Prowl.  
"Everything went well with us." Prowl smiled down at Prowler. "I haven't heard from the twins yet."  
"Ya keeping him all day?"  
Prowl shook his helm. "They were supposed to pick him up already."  
"Huh." Jazz stretched his arms back, lowering one hand to scratch at the back of his helm and neck. "Well, either they killed each other, and you get to adopt him, or it went wildly wonderful and you still may have to adopt him 'cause they'll be busy for a while." Jazz flashed Prowl his rouge's grin, wolfish.  
Prowl shook his helm, well used to Jazz's particular humor. "I am hoping for a much less dramatic outcome. Though still a happy one."  
Jazz stood and finished his cube, gulping down the energon. He turned to Prowl and leaned lazily sideways against his chair. "Just let 'em know that I've got ya booked for this evening." He paused, holding Prowl's gaze. "We're still on?"  
Prowl nodded. "Of course," he said softly.  
Prowler chose that moment to finish with his bottle, loudly smacking his mouth and pulling away.  
"I'll catch you later, Prowl," Jazz said, ambling away. Prowl watched him go, his fond emotions tumbling over each other. They had been dating for over four months now, the same length of time that Prowler had been online. It certainly made for an easy reference point, though, back then, Prowl hadn't had a clue if Jazz was interested in dating exclusively, seriously, or in just having a good time.  
He and Jazz had moved at a snail's pace. Each had independently recognized the inherent difference in their courtship. The Ark was a small community, and it wasn't as if they each had a ton of options in terms of mates and life partners. Neither were desperate to settle, and if a mate had not been present in their group, they would have resigned themselves to a happy, contented life of solitude amidst their friends and comrades. However, there was a potentiality between them. They both had seemingly recognized that on the night of their first date. As odd, backwards, and unusual as it had seemed throughout the war, in peacetime, they were slowly coming together.  
Dates had been simple affairs, outings and drives and drive-in movies, or energon and late night chats and games in the Rec Room. They had tried to keep their dates as quiet as possible, but after their first date and the massive front-page headline it generated, that was almost a moot point. Still, they kept it as simple as they could.  
They had also not done anything physical. There had been no interfacing, no fondling, not even a single kiss at all. It was as if that act, the physical act of showing their emotions, would make those feelings and their relationship all too real. They couldn't cross that line, not until they were absolutely certain. There was too much to lose if they gambled and lost, or if they weren't totally committed to wanting to make their relationship work. Thus, they moved at a snail's pace.  
Prowl set down Prowler's cone bottle and shifted Prowler up to his shoulders. Air sometimes mixed into his sucking and churned within his tanks. Prowl patted him gently, trying to help the energon settle. Prowler sighed, cooing in formless, sleepy sounds.  
Prowl turned his helm, brushing his lips against Prowler's smaller, soft helm. "Looks like you're with me for a while more, Prowler. Ready to head to work?"

***

One moment, Sideswipe was curled on his side around Sunstreaker, recharging peacefully and basking in the offline rapture of being with his brother.  
The next, he was ruthlessly shoved from his berth and fell to the floor, landing in a heap on the decking as Sunstreaker stared down over him, faceplates scowling and murderous.  
"Sunny!" Sideswipe struggled to orient himself, his arms flailing as he searched for his footing.  
"Prowler!" Sunstreaker hissed, his optics narrowing. "It's fragging ten in the morning!"

***

Prowl glanced up as the door chime sounded, several pings in a quick succession. Prowler was resting on his shoulders, curled up in a sleepy cuddle. Prowl held him with one hand as he sat back in his chair, idly reading over the comms reports on his data pad in the other.  
"Enter," he called. He had a fair assumption of who was at his doorstep.  
Sideswipe barreled through his barely-open office door, words already flying out of his mouth.  
"Prowl, I am so sorry! I can't believe we over-recharged! I'm so sorry, Prowl, we never meant to inconvenience you, or interfere with your day, or-" Sideswipe stopped dead, staring at Prowl and Prowler.  
Prowler was completely offline, and even Sideswipe's storming into the office hadn't roused him. He gurgled sleepily, a soft sigh blowing over Prowl's plating.  
"We're doing just fine, Sideswipe," Prowl said softly, setting down his pad. "How are you?" His optic ridges arched slightly.  
"Uhhh…" Sideswipe stared at Prowler, totally relaxed in Prowl's arms. "Good! We're… good. I think. Yeah." Sideswipe shook his helm, finally meeting Prowl's amused gaze. "We're really sorry, Prowl."  
"It's no trouble at all," Prowl replied, smiling softly. "He's recharging pretty soundly right now. Why don't you two go wash up and then we'll meet for your midday ration?"  
Sideswipe boggled. "You sure? I mean, you're working and everything…" he trailed off, his hand waving through Prowl's office space.  
Prowl nodded. "I'm sure. I'm happy you two managed to talk. Take some time this morning to … properly online." Prowl's optics danced with mischief, though he'd never admit it. "I'll see you two in about an hour."  
"Okay," Sideswipe said, nodding. He didn't move.  
Prowl waited, his optic ridges flicking up.  
"Sorry!" Sideswipe started, turning to leave. He glanced over his shoulder at Prowler once more, his optics lingering on his peaceful faceplates and his comfortable snuggle on Prowl's shoulder. He smiled. "We'll be back soon."  
Sunstreaker was momentarily enraged when Sideswipe returned to their quarters sans Prowler, but was mollified to hear that Prowler was comfortable and recharging and seemingly entirely at ease in Prowl's tender care. Finally, they were ready, and they made their way to Prowl's office.  
Prowler was online when they arrived, and he turned immediately at the sound of the door whooshing open. He greeted both his parents with a wide, denta plate-less grin, one finger in the corner of his mouth. Prowl smiled as well, holding Prowler on his knees and bouncing the sparkling gently.  
"Hey Bug!" Sideswipe cried, smiling wide. "How was your night with Prowl?"  
Prowler grinned, grunting a small giggle of laughter as he stared worshipfully up into Sideswipe's face. He lost his balance as he looked up, though Prowl's hand held him steady as he wobbled. He looked down at Prowl's knees, seemingly questioning why his foundation wasn't entirely perfect.  
Sunstreaker couldn't hold back his own smile. He followed Sideswipe, nodding to Prowl, and reached out to tickle his fingers against Prowler's cheek and belly. "We missed you, Prowler," Sunstreaker said softly.  
Prowler looked up at Sunstreaker, grinning wide and with shining optics, just as a long tendril of lubricants drooled out of his mouth. Sunstreaker shook his helm and reached for his sparkling.  
"How was your evening?" Prowl asked, rising to his feet.  
Sideswipe smiled at Prowl as he stood next to Sunstreaker, poking his fingers along Prowler's side and neck and making their sparkling giggle. Prowler hid his face in Sunstreaker's neck, vocalizing soundless noises and giggles as he played his own version of peek-a-boo with Sideswipe.  
"We had a good evening," Sunstreaker said, patting Prowler on the back gently. "Thank you for watching Prowler."  
From Sunstreaker, those were stupendous statements. Prowl figured that meant the evening must have gone fantastic. He smiled, his doorwings hitching upward. "Anytime."  
Sideswipe finally turned his attentions away from Prowler, though his hand reached out and stroked Prowler's backplates along with Sunstreaker. "Heard you have a date with Jazz tonight?"  
Prowl nodded, trying to hold back his smile. "We do indeed."  
Sideswipe beamed at Prowl, and even Sunstreaker seemed pleased. "Glad it's going well, Prowl. Have a good time tonight." They waved, Sideswipe moving Prowler's little hand for him to fake waving back at Prowl - though Prowler seemed much more interested in what Sideswipe was doing to his hand - and then they were gone in a flurry of thanks and promises to watch Prowler again sometime soon.  
Prowl watched the family turn out of his office and head down the corridor, happiness surrounding them all. He smiled, fondly remembering the fun he and Prowler had had together the night before, and how simply stunning it was to hold the tiny, recharging sparkling in his arms. Something beautiful was at work with sparklings, and it affected Prowl, deep in his spark.  
He pushed his thoughts aside as he sat back down at his desk, getting back to work. A short-comm from Jazz popped up on his terminal.  
_Saw the twins. They rescued you from Prowler, hmm?_  
Prowl smiled and clicked back. _I was sad to let him go._  
_Can't wait to hear all about your night with him. See you tonight!_


	2. Chapter 2

Sideswipe blew a raspberry on Prowler's tender abdominal plating. Prowler squealed, his little legs kicking as he lounged on his backplates, and his tiny fists pumped through the air, waving with glee. Sideswipe theatrically blew another loud, wet raspberry against Prowler's plating and then moved down to his small legs and feet. Sideswipe caught the wiggling ankles in his hands, playing with them back and forth as he spouted out a series of zooming noises and wildly contorted facial expressions.  
Next to them both, Sunstreaker sat on their small tarp. Every few minutes, Prowler's helm would roll backward, checking to see if Sunstreaker was still there. Sunstreaker tried to smile back, shaking his helm in a not-so-decent impersonation of Sideswipe's wildly successful playful interactions. It was enough for Prowler, who would grin and then turn right back to Sideswipe, still assaulting him with tickles and movements and sounds.  
Life was good for Prowler.  
Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had trooped out of the Ark with Prowler for a few hours, spending some time together as a family in the shade of the few trees scattered up the side of their volcano. The Ark's entrance spread wide, the well-worn dirt pathway packed firm after all their years of driving in and out. The hard-packed swath blazed a trail out into the world, branches trailing off their main pathway toward patrol routes, roads crossing their territory, and access paths to beacons, sensors and armored caches out in the desert. Far off lay their perimeter border, too far for the optic to see, and beyond that, the rest of the world.  
A squeal of laughter turned Sunstreaker's attentions back down to his sparkling. The rest of the world was an entirely amorphous thing, inconsequential and utterly uninteresting compared to his world of the present. The sun was lowering down across the western desert, and the soft rays set Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's plating aglow.  
Beneath the family, two cars slowly began their drive out of the Ark, gaining speed as they departed from the main entrance. Sunstreaker looked down, squinting as he tried to make out the plating against the rays of sunlight.  
"Is that Prowl and Jazz?" Sideswipe lifted Prowler up from his recline, gently folding him into his arms.  
Sunstreaker nodded, catching the black and white plating of Prowl and the tell-tale blue stripe racing down Jazz's alt mode. "They're out for their date, then."  
Sideswipe nuzzled his sparkling close within his lap. "I'm happy for them," Sideswipe said softly.  
"Think they're good for each other?" Sunstreaker asked quietly.  
"I think they can be." Sideswipe patted Prowler's bottom softly, still holding him close. "Just like us." Sideswipe smiled at his brother.  
Below them both, Prowler giggled aloud, his legs kicking out as he stared at his parents. They both turned and gazed downward, and then Sideswipe was leaning down, assaulting him with full body raspberries and tickles once more as Sunstreaker tickled his neck and sides.  
Life was very good for Prowler.

***

Jazz hurried to the Ark’s entrance, jogging down the final stretch toward the blast doors. He could just make out Prowl's form, the shadow of his body and the lines of his doorwings stretching back against the sandstone and plating of the corridor. He was running late, as per usual, and Prowl was waiting for him to head out. Jazz was momentarily distracted by the shadowed lines of Prowl's body, the curves and angles of his doorwings transfixing him as he jogged forward. His vents hitched slightly, and he had to shake himself away from admiring Prowl's form. _Why did I never notice before how sexy he was?_ Jazz thought, not for the first time.  
"Sorry I'm late," Jazz called out, jogging to a stop in front of Prowl. "Couldn't get off the Command Deck right away." He smiled, tilting his helm as his hands propped up on his hips.  
Prowl smiled back, already used to Jazz's seeming allergy to punctuality. Before, it had raked over his circuits, and he had thought Jazz was personally spiting him by making him wait for meetings, debriefs, and intel analysis until Jazz deigned to arrive. Now, Prowl understood Jazz's world. Jazz truly lived for around the mechs, and he was at home most when he was interacting with them, taking care of them, and simply being their reliable commanding officer. He wore his seniority as if wearing an oath, a promise to be the crew's champion. It used to rankle at Prowl's sense of decorum, the ease with which Jazz flitted amongst the crew, but now… Prowl smiled to himself. With the twins' sparkling named after him and his near-regular evening energon dates with the family, he could barely claim any sort of non-fraternizing behavior on his own part either.  
And the truth was, he was happier this way. He enjoyed being a part of the twins' life, and especially a part of Prowler's young life.  
Of course, there was also Jazz. A zip of current raced throughout Prowl's body, traveling from helm to feet and back in an astrosecond before curling down his backstruts in a slow burn. His unintended attraction to Jazz had morphed into an unexpected desire, which was teetering on the edges of a far greater, as of yet unspoken emotion. Prowl pushed those thoughts aside. Everything was still too new for that. At the moment, they were still figuring each other out, still learning all the ways they fit together as mechs. It was surprising and exhilarating, and each time together was a new discovery.  
"Where are we headed?" Prowl asked, turning to face Jazz.  
Jazz smiled. "There's a double feature playing at the drive-in. A couple of action films. I thought you might like the explosions."  
Prowl nodded. "Alright, lead the way." He gestured ahead, letting Jazz direct their drive.  
Jazz hesitated, tilting his helm as he peered closer at Prowl. Prowl froze, staring back. Jazz's hand reached out, and he rubbed his fingers over a tiny streak of grey grease, residue from the rifle cleaning Prowl had performed earlier with Bluestreak. Jazz smiled gently, rubbing the grease off in a slow, fluid stroke with his fingers.  
Not daring to move, Prowl stood entirely still, letting Jazz's fingers wipe the remainder of the grease from his plating. It was mildly embarrassing to be caught with the residue on his cheek, but more than that, Prowl's movements were stilled by the sudden closeness of Jazz's body. If he just turned, they'd be in each other's arms. If he moved his helm, turned it just so, they could almost be kissing…  
Almost as if forcing himself, Jazz stepped back, his visor brighter than normal. "Rifle practice with Bluestreak?" he asked, his voice deep.  
Prowl nodded, his own hand rising to rub at his plating, checking to make sure the grease was all gone.  
After a moment, Jazz stepped back further, and he turned to face the road. "Ready?" he called. Prowl nodded and dropped down into his alt mode silently. Jazz followed suit, and then they were driving off, slowly working up speed away from the Ark.

***

The drive was uneventful, and they arrived at the drive-in theater with time to spare. They wandered around the theatre enclosure, finally settling down as far from the screen as possible while still being technically within the property. Humans took notice of them as soon as they entered, and Prowl saw more than one cell phone flash outward, phone calls and pictures and quick video clips being snapped and passed around as they sat. Both he and Jazz had been identified as another Autobot couple by the human press, and their ventures out together within the human world were detailed in near-obsessive glory. Someone had taken to posting the headlines the two of them made from their dates and outings in the Rec Room. They all disappeared within the day, but not before the entire crew got to see their commanding officers in the middle of their date, sometimes caught, as with the first picture, in a rather un-commanding position.  
This time, Jazz and Prowl sat stiffly next to each other, not talking, not interacting, merely waiting for the human interest to wane and for the movie to begin. Occasionally they glanced across at each other, small, near imperceptible smiles sneaking out.  
Finally, the movie began, and they both stretched out and relaxed. Though it was a drive-in movie, neither of them actually wanted to be in alt mode for the duration. Prowl sat straight while Jazz sprawled out languidly. The headlights of all the human cars dimmed, and the screen came to life, the opening credits and catchy music tinkling over the crowd.  
Almost halfway through the first movie, Jazz leaned across to Prowl and whispered, "Sorry I picked such an awful movie."  
Prowl snorted. "It's not too terrible," he tried to reassure Jazz.  
"It's awful."  
Prowl smiled wide as he turned to look at Jazz. "It somewhat lacks in the basic elements of plot, character development, and logic."  
Jazz grinned. "But it does have action."  
"That it does." Prowl's optics twinkled as he stared over at Jazz.  
Jazz rolled, shifting his body until he was lying on his side with his helm propped up in his hand. The other hand snaked out, playing with the grasses on the overgrown hillside they were perched on. "So what were you thinking about? Reviewing Bluestreak's range session?"  
"Going over the requisition reports, actually," Prowl nodded. "Grapple needs 16 tons of galvanized steel, and 5 gross of self sealing stem bolts." Prowl held Jazz's gaze, stifling his smile.  
Jazz snorted, breaking first, and he reached out to push at Prowl's knee with his free hand. "I'm sorry," he whispered, smiling self-deprecatingly as he shook his helm. "This blows."  
"I didn't come for the movie," Prowl whispered as if sharing a secret. His optics flashed, and he lowered himself down to his side as well, stretching out next to Jazz and propping his helm up in his own hand. His doorwings flared behind him before settling down sideways onto the grass.  
"Oh really now?"  
Prowl nodded, scooting slightly closer to Jazz's body. Jazz's fingers stretched out, tracing over his white abdominal plating before he looked back up to Prowl's face.  
"How did everything go with Prowler last night?"  
Instantly, Prowl's expression turned soft. "Great," he said. "Prowler was already fed and bathed, so we just played for a little bit before he started really winding down. He fell offline pretty easily. All I had to do was hold him and walk around." Prowl conveniently left out the part about how he told Prowler stories, talking to him about the Autobots' heroic battles and his fearless parents saving the rest of them time and again. Prowler had nodded off because of Prowl's soft and gentle voice.  
"So what happened to Sides and Sunny? They didn't kill each other. They forget about him?"  
"No, they'd never forget about Prowler." He pushed on Jazz's shoulder, and Jazz grinned back, playing along. "They had a, ah, long night. They… over recharged."  
Jazz chuckled, smiling at Prowl's political description. "Sounds like they needed it."  
"They looked great when they came in to get him."  
"You know, I never thought I'd say this, but I'm rooting for them." Jazz smiled, tilting his helm to stare into Prowl's optics. "I really am."  
Nodding, Prowl smiled back. "They really are good for each other."  
Jazz was silent for a long moment, simply staring into Prowl's gaze. Prowl smiled back, then shifted, the moment growing long. Finally, Jazz spoke again. "You want a sparkling, don't you?"  
Prowl froze, his mouth dropping open. He stared back, momentarily thrown off balance at the shift in the conversation. Jazz's tone was still light, still friendly and lilting and full of all of his warmth, and yet, the topic was veering into the deeply personal. Into the future. Into potentiality.  
He inhaled, steeling himself as he doorwings shifted against the grass behind him. "I do," he said simply. "Not now, but sometime in the future. Yes, I do want a sparkling. I'd like to have a family." Prowl paused. "I always have."  
"Really?" Jazz shifted his hand propping up his helm.  
"The war got in the way." He shrugged, though it was an odd movement laying on his side on the hill. "What about you?" He hesitated, waiting for Jazz's answer.  
Jazz pursed his lips, titling his helm in the opposite direction as he thought about it. "I don't not want one," he said after a moment. "I honestly never thought about it. It wasn't a drive of mine. I didn't have to have one to feel like my life was complete." Jazz's gaze shifted to Prowl's optics. "I think the time was just never right. And neither was the mech. I didn't want one in the past…" Jazz's voice trailed off as he held Prowl's optics through his visor. "But I could see myself with a family in the future," he finished softly.  
Silence stretched between the two for a long moment. Slowly, Prowl smiled, and he reached out to lace their free hands together.  
"Of course," Jazz said after a moment. "I have to be careful about who I share my code with." He turned his helm back to Prowl, a mischievous grin playing over his face. "I mean, I have some superior code. I can't just go around sparking anyone."  
Prowl chuckled, his helm tilting back as he played along. "Oh really now?"  
"Yeah!" Jazz mocked insulted pride. "I'm a catch!"  
"Well, that you are." Prowl tugged playfully on Jazz's hand, their digits still locked together.  
"I've gotta make sure my code only gets passed along to the most worthy mech." Jazz was getting into it now. "I can't just give anyone my sparkling!"  
"Oh, of course not…" Prowl deadpanned, though his own grin ruined the effect. "Sunstreaker."  
"That's right!" Jazz tugged back on Prowl's hand, nodding as he smiled.  
"What about Cliffjumper?" Prowl offered innocently.  
Jazz winced. "I'm not so sure he'd, ah, 'measure up' to my standards."  
Prowl bitterly fought back the laughter that threatened to overtake him. "Tracks?"  
Again, Jazz cringed. "Not that he wouldn't want to be graced with my code! But… I don't think the universe could hold if there were two Tracks in existence!"  
Prowl couldn't help the snort that exploded out of him. "Grimlock? Power, strength…" He trailed off as Jazz visibly blanched.  
"Man, I can't even go there." Jazz groaned as he chuckled, pitching forward to rest his forehelm on the grass between their bodies. Prowl laughed out loud.  
After a moment, Jazz scooted closer, leaning over Prowl and gazing down into his optics. Prowl stopped breathing as Jazz spoke, his warm, honeyed voice pouring out softly. "I think I've already found a worthy partner."  
"Oh?" was all Prowl could manage, inelegantly breathed out in surprised shock. Jazz moved slowly, lowering his helm the final few inches as he nodded. The entire world fell away from Prowl, and all he could see, all he could feel, all he knew for certain was that Jazz's body, his being, the energy and light and warmth that was Jazz was suddenly right there with him. Finally, tenderly, Jazz's lips grazed over his own, brushing against his lips with the faintest touch.  
Prowl gasped. Jazz quirked a small smile, the motion transferring over Prowl's lips. A moment stretched out, the both of them staring into each other's gazes before Prowl's hand slid up Jazz's plating, cupping his helm and pulling him down for another kiss. Jazz grabbed Prowl's hips, pulling him closer.  
Prowl moaned at the touch, and his careful restraint shattered. Hungrily he devoured, pressing up against Jazz's body and lips with a passion he'd slowly kindled and nurtured for months. Jazz broke away with a gasp, his burning optics peering down into Prowl's heated face. Their gazes seared together, mouths open and panting harshly before Jazz lowered his forehelm down to rest against Prowl's. Their noses rubbed together, hot breaths intermingling.  
"I've wanted to do that for a while now," Jazz whispered, his hands gripping down on Prowl, stroking along his curved plating as he pulled him close.  
Prowl's optics fluttered and his helm tilted back, his lips brushing up over Jazz's and catching on the corner of his grinning mouth. He shivered, his doorwings pressed together and down against the cool grass and dirt behind them. "Don't stop," Prowl finally breathed huskily.  
Jazz recaptured his lips with passion, claiming Prowl's lips and body as his own. Prowl couldn't breathe, and the pleasure was spiking through his systems. Jazz was everywhere, all around him, enveloping him and encompassing him. He was tossed around, lost at sea and drowning in Jazz's passion, the intensity of his physicality. It was more than he had ever felt, and he never wanted it to end.

***

Somewhere, in a far distant part of Prowl's processor, he knew that the humans, if they were seeing this, would be having a field day, and that the Ark would go absolutely insane over these tabloid pictures. He couldn't bring himself to care, not at all. He gripped down hard, encircling Jazz's waist and trying to pull his body further and deeper and harder into his own. Jazz's engine jumped, roaring suddenly. _Primus, more,_ Prowl thought.  
The sudden dual chirps of their comm units was perhaps the worst noise they each had each ever heard. Jazz pulled away from Prowl's lips mid-kiss, shock and confused horror stretched across his face. His body stopped, all movements frozen, and the act seemed wrenchingly painful, if the contortions of his face were anything to go by.  
Prowl gasped, momentarily lost and confused without the anchoring of Jazz's kiss to hold him to reality. His processor spun, dimly recognizing the comm chirp but – for a moment - not caring at all.  
The comm chirped again, louder this time. Jazz's helm thunked down into the grass next to Prowl's shoulder, heavy, shaking pants escaping him as he fought to bring himself down from his frenzied high and back to some semblance of control. Prowl's hands stayed wrapped around Jazz's waist, and their lower bodies were still intertwined, hot plating searing into the others.  
Prowl activated his comm line first, seeing that Jazz was still panting for control with his optics offline. "Prowl here," he forced out, trying desperately to keep his vocalizer steady and even.  
He must have failed entirely, if Hound's tone of voice was anything to go by. "I'm very sorry to interrupt you, sirs," he began, his voice tense and upset. "But we're getting a distress call from the humans. They say the Decepticons are attacking."  
Jazz's helm rolled on the grass, turning to stare at Prowl incredulously. "What?" Prowl croaked out, the highest thought his process could spit back to Hound's statement.  
"The Decepticons are attacking, sirs," Hound repeated. "They're targeting an oil refinery on the coast. The US military is too far away and local law enforcement is overwhelmed. They're requesting our help."  
Prowl's hope that the war had ended faded, dimming within his spark. Why now? Where had the Decepticons come from? They'd been silent, near absent from the surface of the Earth since Sunstreaker's capture. Where had they gone? To what purpose? And why were they attacking now, of all times? Prowl's optics met Jazz's, and they both finally ticked back over into their officer roles, resuming their lives as warriors and leaders. Jazz rolled off Prowl in an instant, pushing himself to his feet first. Prowl straightened, sitting up and flexing his doorwings.  
"Scramble the squads, Hound. I want the Aerialbots airborne and have everyone else mobilized in ten minutes. I'm heading back now. We'll meet enroute."  
Jazz interrupted Hound's affirmative call. "Hound, send Mirage out right away. Have him meet me at the coordinates."  
Again, Hound chimed an affirmative and Prowl cut the line. He turned to Jazz. "Are you going to scout out the attack?"  
"We're going to try. We'll get their twice as fast as the rest of you."  
"Send back your intel to me. I don't want you attacking without backup."  
Jazz nodded. "Will do. I just wanna figure out what these 'Cons are up to this time."  
"Indeed." Prowl nodded, a frown playing over his features. "I cannot figure out the logic behind this."  
Jazz smiled, a quick quirk of his lips. "Let me get you some intel before you go burning your processor up on logic."  
He couldn't help but smile at that, and Prowl nodded sharply, once. He met Jazz's gaze, and suddenly froze. It was time to head out, to roll out to battle and meet the Decepticons once again, but the juxtaposition of all that Jazz had become within his spark and mind grated against all the past memories of just this event. Wasn't he supposed to be frustrated over Jazz's seat of the aft, single-mech'd plans? Wasn't he supposed to be irritated that Jazz cut out parts of his mission plans and rearranged his own role? Instead, worry settled deep within, behind his battle plans and the mission specs and the roster of the mechs that would be rolling out to join the battle group.  
"Be careful out there," he finally said, holding Jazz's gaze. "We'll be waiting for your intel."  
Jazz nodded slowly, and he began to back away, moving off without turning his back on Prowl. "You guys be careful too," he said softly. "I'll see you back at the Ark." With that, he turned and began to jog, quickly moving to the main road to transform back into his alt mode. Prowl waited, wasting precious seconds of his battle plan as he listened to the roar of Jazz's engine as he cut loose, tearing away to find the Decepticons.  
Prowl forced himself to turn away, and as he did so, the spell seemed to shatter. He shook his helm, refocusing himself on the task at hand, the present attack. He moved off to the opposite highway, lowered himself back down into his alt mode, and after onlining his sirens, roared off as well. Prowl opened a comm line back to the Ark, requesting a brief from Hound on everything that they knew for certain. He listened intently, his processor already reasoning and formulating through the information, but every few minutes, Prowl would check his rear sensors, scanning the road behind him in the direction that Jazz had gone.

***

Sunstreaker slowly rocked back and forth, sifting his weight across his feet as he swayed his hips. Prowler relaxed in his arms, a formless, tensionless snuggle of warm plating and dim optics. Prowler's fading optics stared up into Sunstreaker's face, and Sunstreaker gazed right back down, an impossibly soft smile on his face.  
Arms wrapped around Sunstreaker's waist from behind, and Sideswipe's body slid around Sunstreaker's. His chin rested on his brother's shoulder. Sideswipe peered down, staring with equal fondness at Prowler's sleepy body, gently dropping into recharge in Sunstreaker's arms.  
Shifting, Sunstreaker tenderly lifted Prowler up to his chestplates, laying him against his plating with his helm tucked under his chin and their sparks aligned through their plating. The scent of the gentle wash soap Sideswipe had used to clean Prowler wafted up, teasing at Sunstreaker's nose. He smiled again, dropping a kiss to the back of Prowler's helm as he continued to sway, back and forth. Sideswipe joined his movements, and the two of them rocked together, lulling their sparkling peacefully as he nodded off.  
Prowler gave a tiny, happy sigh, a quiet exhale of contentment, and then his optics offlined. His tiny fist curled around Sunstreaker's neck, clinging to his parent, the last conscious thought he processed before recharge overtook his little body. Sunstreaker continued to rock slowly, his lips pressed over Prowler's helm.  
Sideswipe smiled from behind, squeezing around Sunstreaker's waist as he pressed his own kiss to Sunstreaker's neck. "He loves you so much," Sideswipe whispered.  
The sudden wailing of the alert klaxon tore through their quarters with the destructive force of a hurricane, shredding the peaceful lassitude of their moment.  
Prowler onlined instantly, terror and anger shaking his body as he wailed, horrible cries and sobs pouring instantly from his vocalizer. He curled up against Sunstreaker's plating, wanting his parent to make all the noise and pain go away.  
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker froze, staring horrified at each other. Red Alert's voice broke throughout the comm systems a moment later. "Autobots, mobilize for emergency response. Decepticon attack in progress."  
For a long moment, neither brother moved. Prowler's wails stretched on in their quarters, and Sunstreaker's hands clenched around his sparkling's body, trying to shield him physically from the sirens. Sideswipe stepped back, dazed, and his lips moved soundlessly as he tried to process what was happening.  
"I thought they were gone," Sunstreaker grunted, turning to face Sideswipe.  
"Uh…" Sideswipe shook his helm, his optics glued to Sunstreaker and their wailing sparkling. "I… I have to go," he gasped, panic lacing his voice.  
"What?" Sunstreaker barked, frown instantly falling over his face. His hands curled around Prowler's body tighter, reflexively.  
"I have to go." Sideswipe whispered, his face contorting. "I… I have to go out there. I have to join the squads."  
"No!" Sunstreaker's shout nearly matched Prowler's in volume, and their sparkling wailed louder, his tiny face twisting as he screamed out his pain.  
Sideswipe's hands began to shake as he dashed around their quarters, trying to find all the pieces of his life he had set aside months and months ago. His laser rifle was stowed high on the top of their shelves, his extra core cartridges shoved underneath their berth. He hadn't a clue where his grenades were. "I have to go," he repeated, his voice mournful, his optics fracturing with too much emotion.  
"Then I have to come with you." Sunstreaker crossed their quarters quickly, trying to awkwardly stretch for his own pulse rifle on the top of their shelves. He couldn't reach, not with Prowler in his arms, and after a second he stopped trying. He pulled Prowler tighter against his chestplates, tucking him up under his chin as he growled. Sunstreaker whirled, stalking to Sideswipe, his brother's helm buried underneath their berth. "You can't go out there alone!"  
Sideswipe popped out from under their berth, clutching two replacement core cartridges. "You can't come, Sunny. You have to stay with Prowler."  
"I'm not letting you go out there alone!" Sunstreaker shouted through gritted teeth. It didn't matter at all that Sideswipe would be mobilizing with the rest of the Autobots. If Sunstreaker wasn't with him, then Sideswipe might as well have been entirely alone. They fought together, always. "You shouldn't go out there at all!"  
"I have to! I'm part of the Command Staff now." Sideswipe pushed himself to his feet, grabbing his dusty pulse rifle and his spare cartridges awkwardly in one hand.  
"You're a parent!" Sunstreaker bellowed.  
"We're Autobots! I'm supposed to fight with the others!"  
"We're supposed to stay together!" Sunstreaker's voice caught on his gears.  
"Primus, I don't want to leave," Sideswipe whispered painfully. Prowler continued to wail, his optics white with emotion and his tiny engine running hot. "Sunny…"  
Sunstreaker stood awkwardly, clutching his sparkling and staring at his brother. Sideswipe breathed heavy, harsh exhales as his face twisted horribly. He'd never gone into battle without Sunstreaker before, and leaving his brother behind was a physical rend in his spark. Beyond that, leaving their sparkling… Sideswipe's spark was choking, the pressure within his chest nearly ready to explode.  
Red Alert's voice broke over the comm system again. "Autobots, mobilize at the Ark entrance. Departure in two minutes." The alert klaxon faded, but a steady red pulse of light kept up, the visual rejoinder to the alert siren.  
Prowler's sobs were the only noise to break the stillness and silence of their quarters. Prowler curled up against Sunstreaker's plating, rubbing his face and helm against Sunstreaker's neck. Lubricants dripped from his open mouth, falling in streaks over Sunstreaker's chestplating.  
Sideswipe crossed their quarters in two strides, dropping his pulse rifle and cartridges haphazardly. His hands rose, grasping Sunstreaker's face between them, and he pressed himself as close as he could before bringing their faces together, searing an intense kiss between their lips. Sunstreaker responded in kind, physically attacking Sideswipe mouth with his own, lips and denta mashing together roughly as he tried to hold Sideswipe to him with the force of his kiss.  
Finally, Sideswipe pulled away, and he quickly leaned down to drop a series of heavy, long kisses to the back of Prowler's still-crying helm. "I love you so much," Sideswipe whispered, kissing Prowler and looking up into Sunstreaker's gaze. He backed away, forcing himself to move. He was in dangerous territory, and one more kiss might cement his feet to the decking. Sideswipe gathered up his pulse rifle and his cartridges and, breathing heavily and holding Sunstreaker's optics, began backing himself toward their quarter's doors. "I love you," Sideswipe whispered.  
Sunstreaker stared, then began moving as well, following after Sideswipe. Their gazes locked to each other until Sideswipe turned as their doors opened and he dashed down the corridor, one last, horrible look thrown over his shoulder. Sunstreaker paused momentarily as Sideswipe darted away, then broke into a run.  
He followed after Sideswipe, racing through the corridors, the red lights blaring and his sparkling still wailing in his arms. Other mechs ran by, squeezing past Sunstreaker with their heavy armaments and rockets strapped to their plating. He kept his optics locked on the red plating of his brother up ahead.  
Finally, they burst out of the Ark and into the desert. The Aerialbots were streaking overhead, blasting their way out to the battle ahead of the ground mechs. Ironhide was barking orders and the squads were lining up in their battle formations. All the mechs he had fought with, all the mechs he had come to know over the years on the Ark. All were spread out before him, all going back into battle against the Decepticons… all without him.  
Sideswipe moved through the squads, joining Ironhide and Trailbreaker at the front column. Trailbreaker leaned over and started briefing Sideswipe instantly, though Ironhide, true to form, ignored him and continued to bellow out at the squads.  
"Alright everyone!" Prime finally emerged from the Ark, moving to the front and assuming command instantly. "The Decepticons have reemerged and the humans are under attack. Let's roll out!"  
As one, the mechs dropped into their transformation sequences, lowering themselves into their alt modes. Headlights flashed on, cutting through the night, and Prime's engine began to rumble, signaling the start of their movements. The squads moved out, traveling in packs behind Prime, with the rest of his Command Staff, Sideswipe included, flanking their leader. Above, Skyfire lifted off as well, providing air cover for the moving battle convoy.  
Sunstreaker watched it all, left behind just inside the Ark entrance. Prowler clung to him, his wails exhausting him and turning to whimpers and pained squirms. Sunstreaker's arms tightened around his sparkling, holding him close. He didn't know who was providing more comfort to the other any longer.  
Sunstreaker's optics lingered over the dust cloud from the convoy long after it faded away. _Sideswipe…_ he thought, his internals warring with themselves in a battle of frantic anguish and desperate, furious worry. They weren't supposed to be separated. They weren't supposed to be alone. They weren't supposed to have to face battle without the other one right there with them.  
This wasn't how it was supposed to be at all.

***

Jazz hunkered down low, staying out of sight behind the rising swell of a dirt mound just beyond the perimeter fence of the oil refinery. Within the fencing, the Decepticons were harvesting the fuel, stealing the raw oil for conversion to a purified form of energon. Jazz's visor clicked views and his gaze swept over the refinery again, this time seeing the invisible form of Mirage sneaking through the perimeter.  
"Looks like the gangs all here," Mirage piped through their secure commlink. "They want this oil, badly."  
"Any idea what hole they crawled out of?" Jazz silently pinged back.  
There was a pause before Mirage answered. "I haven't a clue, Jazz. They don't look scrappy. If anything, they look like they've been on a vacation."  
Jazz frowned. "There haven't been any reports of them traveling around, leaving the planet, or harassing any other humans. What have they been up to for the past six months? How could they strengthen themselves up?"  
"Unknown. But whatever it was, it's left them in pretty good shape." Jazz watched as Mirage passed by the Constructicons, working to access a new storage well of unrefined oil.  
Jazz rolled backward, laying flat on his backplates as he switched his commlink. "Jazz to Prowl," he pinged silently.  
"Prowl here." The answer was immediate.  
"Mirage is reporting that nearly all the Decepticons are here, and they're intent on getting the oil."  
"Understood. What's their operating condition?"  
Jazz sighed. "Ya know, that's just the thing. Mirage says they're looking pretty good. I know from my angle they look fully functional as well."  
Prowl frowned heavily, murmuring over the commlink. "How is that possible?"  
"I don't know, man. But this doesn't look good."  
"Indeed. Hold your position. We are approximately ten minutes from meeting up with you. Comm back if anything else comes up."  
"Will do." Jazz cut the line and rolled back over, keeping watch on Mirage as he moved through the compound and refinery.  
Prowl had met up with Prime's battle convoy and slid into position next to Sideswipe and Prime as they sped along, racing to the refinery. Prowl hadn't had time before to think about the twins, but as soon as his optics fell on Sideswipe, his processor screamed out one thought, loud and clear: _What about Sunstreaker?_ A quick scan showed the yellow twin wasn't with the battle group, and as Prowl glanced across to Sideswipe, he realized the red twin was unusually quiet, his engine running hard and his driving nearly obsessively controlled. Unbidden, Prowl's thoughts turned back to Prowler, hopefully back on the Ark safe with Sunstreaker. He pushed those thoughts aside. Now was not the time for his processor to wander.  
Prowl spoke aloud for Prime and rest of the battle staff to hear. "Jazz reports that the Decepticons are fully mobilized, and that their operating condition is excellent."  
Prime's engine rumbled as he absorbed the information. "Interesting. I wonder what Megatron has been up to." He paused, then spoke louder. "Sideswipe, inform the squad leaders. Ironhide, Trailbreaker, let's separate the squads and try to come at them from both sides, pin them in the middle. Prowl, Sideswipe, you two will run the battle." Prime's engine rumbled once more. "I'll handle Megatron."  
A chorus of affirmatives rang out, and then comm signals were flying, Ironhide and Trailbreaker coordinating the split of the squads and the directions they would lead as Sideswipe pinged out the information to the squad leaders in preparation. Prowl sighed heavily, preparing for his own role in running the battle strategy. He was, for a moment, overwhelmingly grateful that Prime had attached Sideswipe to his side. Not only was Sideswipe decently intelligent, with a far different view of battles than what Prowl possessed, but keeping him out of the rumble and tumble of the intensity of the battle might keep the new parent safer than any of the others. The thought was bitterly unfair, and Prowl didn't like himself for thinking it. Still, he couldn't regret the desire to keep Sideswipe slightly safer than all others, not now.  
The oil refinery finally came into view up ahead. Prime gunned forward, leading the front charge as Prowl and Sideswipe flanked him on either side. "Ironhide, Trailbreaker, lead your squads around," Prowl comm'd. From behind, tires squealed, the different squads breaking right and left as they followed after their leaders, flanking wide around the refinery.  
"Jazz, we're incoming," Prowl comm'd privately, sending the comm back on the silent internal frequency.  
"Good timing," Jazz pinged back. "They're looking like they're ready to bug out."  
"What's your position?" Prowl decided where he wanted to lead the battle from.  
"South, tucked beneath a knoll 'bout 30 feet from the perimeter fence, right side."  
"Got it." Prowl's sensors plotted his location quickly. "We're joining you momentarily."  
Prowl refocused his attentions to Sideswipe. "Sideswipe, stay with me." An engine rev was his only answer.  
Together, Prowl and Sideswipe drove south, heading for Jazz's position. They transformed and sneaked the final mile in, covering their engine and drive noise by their stealth approach on foot. Silverbolt comm'd in on to Prowl as they moved, and Prowl told him to hold his position, circling high above, and to wait for Ironhide and Trailbreaker's advances. Jazz spotted him and Sideswipe and waved them over. They each fell to his side, peering over the knoll at the Decepticons as they prepared to load up the collected oil into the Combaticons and Constructicons.  
"They'll be easier to fight with all that oil in them," Sideswipe remarked softly. "They'll be moving much slower."  
Prowl stared at Sideswipe briefly before glancing at Jazz. "Where's Mirage?"  
"I told him to pull out. He should be meeting Trailbreaker's team on the far side."  
Nodding, Prowl spoke softly. "Good. They're going to attack any minute now."  
Just as Prowl spoke, an explosion boomed from the far side of refinery and a vast plume of smoke exploded skyward, great waves of flame tickling around the edges. All three of their helms turned, staring, and they missed Ironhide's grand entrance to the north. He pounded his way through the perimeter, all the mechs within the squads he led driving alongside, and they transformed behind the backs of the stunned Decepticons.  
"Fire!" Ironhide called out, bellowing over the sudden racket of the battle. His mechs opened fire, Bluestreak and Smokescreen sticking together and diving for cover near the side of a building, while Cliffjumper covered Brawn as he worked on packaging a quick explosive.  
As the Decepticons whirled, unprepared and unawares, Trailbreaker's team pounced in from the west, roaring through the flaming inferno and once again rising up behind the Decepticons turned backsides. Prime appeared as well, bellowing for Megatron to face him once again, though Prowl couldn't say from where Prime had appeared.  
Jazz grinned wide, flashing a quick look across to Prowl. "Not bad," he said, shaking his helm before looking back over the battle. "Not too bad at all."  
Prowl smirked, momentarily distracted before Sideswipe chimed in. His optics had never left the battle, and Prowl wondered what was tumbling throughout his processor. Sideswipe had never seen a battle from their perspective and had never been a part of the advanced planning and execution of an incursion. What must it seem like, to suddenly be pulled from the immediacy of the action and placed on the sideline, observing and directing without the benefit of the reaction?  
"They're going to run!" Sideswipe hissed. "They're scattering!"  
Instantly, Jazz was scanning over the battlefield as well. "He's right," he said, turning a searing gaze toward Prowl. "We've got to follow them. Figure out where they're headed."  
Prowl nodded, and together the three of them pushed to their feet. Jazz and Sideswipe instantly fell into combat stances, moving in tandem with the practiced ease of frontline warriors. Prowl moved behind them both, shadowing their movements as they advanced on the refinery's perimeter. Above, the Aerialbots streaked overhead, raining down shots on the now-beginning-to-flee Decepticons. Starscream's shrieking vocalizer could be heard over the chaos, scratchy calls for retreats and fall back positions shouted out to the troops. Far off, Prowl thought he heard Megatron's raspy voice, arguing with Prime's over the roar of the blazing inferno. Turbines screamed nearby, and the jet wash of Seekers taking flight washed hot over their plating as Thundercracker and Skywarp rose overhead.  
Sideswipe ducked low and opened fire, a series of shots scattering across Thundercracker's wings. Skywarp rolled, trying to return the shots, but Jazz covered for Sideswipe and the jets instead throttled hard and peeled off, climbing in altitude. Skydive and Fireflight got to them next, and multicolored laser blasts began to brighten the sky above.  
In the middle of the refinery, the Constructicons and Combaticons were transforming to their alt modes and preparing to head out. Hovering above was Starscream, and even Soundwave seemed to hang nearby while Megatron engaged with Prime on the west side.  
"It's a distraction," Prowl said, glancing around the chaos of the battle. The rest of the Autobots were engaged with the Seekers, with the Cassettes, with the Triple Changers, with the Sunticons, but the Constructicons and Combaticons were preparing to slink off relatively unengaged.  
"We've got to stop them," Sideswipe hissed, ready to shoulder through and take on the massing Decepticons single-handedly.  
"Wait!" Jazz called, stilling Sideswipe's movements. "I have an idea."

***

Sunstreaker paced, his tanks churning, his lines burning, and his spark feeling as if it were about to burst out of his chest.  
He'd never before been on the Ark when it was so entirely empty and devoid of mechs. The place was as silent as a tomb, and the complete lack of activity and purpose was driving his processor to its limit. He'd never been sociable before, but that was a choice, a desire to not interact with the world that surrounded him. Faced with no world surrounding him at all, Sunstreaker struggled to hold back his panicked feelings of abandonment and futile uselessness.  
It had taken hours to calm Prowler down, and still their sparkling wasn't recharging peacefully at all. He was only dozing, barely offline at all, and he'd wake with a fit of cries and wails nearly every half hour. Sunstreaker didn't know how to take care of him any longer and he didn't know how to reassure his sparkling that everything was going to be alright… when everything clearly was not.  
Sunstreaker paced to the Rec Room, intent on waiting out the battle and for Sideswipe to return. His processor played over a series of images, a compilation of every battle they had undergone together. Had Sideswipe raced into battle with his usual fervor? Had he clambered on top of the Seekers, Jet Judo thrill racing through his lines? Was anyone watching his back, the way Sunstreaker always, always had? The thoughts and memories were too much to contain, and the emotions spilled out of his spark, consuming him in anxious, terrible frustration.  
He left the Rec Room when the overturned chairs and abandoned cubes of energon became too much for him. The emptiness, the isolation, the clawing worry and fear he had that somewhere out there, Sideswipe needed him and he wasn't there at his side burned along his spark.  
Sunstreaker returned to their quarters for one of Prowler's warming blankets halfway through the night. He draped it over Prowler's body and his shoulder, covering and shielding his recharging sparkling as best he could from the harsh glare of the Ark's lighting and the chilled air. Then, he headed to the Command Deck.  
Which was an absolutely horrible, terrible, spark-tearing idea. Red Alert had the battle keyed up, Teletraan 1 beaming back the telemetry of the engagement in real-time images for Red Alert's purview. Comm lines were opened, and the raging of the squads against the Decepticons could be freely heard echoing around the deck.  
Sunstreaker's spark guttered as he listened, hearing all the voices of all the gruff mechs he knew on board the Ark… save one.

***

"We need to follow them," Jazz said, leaning close to Prowl and talking quickly. "Let's figure out where they're headed, and what they're up to."  
Prowl glanced back to the Combaticons and Constructions. Starscream was taking off, Vortex hovering behind him with the slower whirl of his rotors, and the ground mechs were beginning to start up as well. Where had they been, and where were they headed?  
"Alright," Prowl said, turning back around to face Jazz and Sideswipe. "Follow them, but I'm assigning cover for you both. I still want to take out their stolen caches of oil." Jazz nodded and motioned for Sideswipe to follow him as he crept away from Prowl, leading them both around the side of a building and back toward the hole the Decepticons had carved for themselves in the perimeter fence. Prowl called out after the two mechs. "Be careful!"  
Jazz met his gaze, a warm look hidden within, and nodded.  
"Prowl to Silverbolt," Prowl comm'd, joining the battlenet of the Autobots as he turned away. Sideswipe and Jazz slinked off in the darkness, disappearing after the retreating Decepticons.  
"Silverbolt!" The Aerialbot leader chimed back in quickly, his voice oddly upbeat despite the battle raging.  
"I've got two mechs heading out after the retreating Decepticons. I want to you put a tail on them and keep watch, but keep your distance. We want to see where these Cons are headed."  
"Got it!" Silverbolt switched comms and Prowl heard him assign Slingshot and Skydive to covering Jazz and Sideswipe. He turned one last time, staring off into the darkness where the two had crept before peering out from the building he was pressed up against to plot his moves to reach Prime's side.  
Jazz and Sideswipe crept together, sneaking through the darkness of the ditches along the side of the road. Above, Starscream and Vortex followed the path of the ground-bound Decepticons, and the entire oddly-assembled convey moved as quickly as they could northward. Jazz and Sideswipe kept in touch with quick glances and signals through their optics and hands as they moved quickly.  
"I told that fool this plan would work!" Starscream screeched overhead. "The Autobots are too wrapped up around killing Megatron that they ignore the whole point of this operation!"  
Jazz and Sideswipe shared a quick glance between them as they moved, listening to the prattle of the Decepticon SIC.  
"And, if we're lucky," Starscream continued to purr, "They really will offline our illustrious leader once and for all!"  
"Enough talk, Screamer!" One of the ground-bound Decepticons called out. Jazz couldn't make out which one. "Just get us to this new bunker of yours!"  
New bunker? Jazz flashed Sideswipe a confused look, sharing a brief flash of concern. How far were they headed?  
"Certainly," Starscream purred again. "I'll get you to the new bunker, but only if you show some proper respect! I'm the one who got us out of the disgraced mess that Megatron left us to wallow in!"  
"Listen Screamer!" Brawl transformed quickly, skidding to a stop in this root form and sending the rest of the convoy scattering. "I've had enough of your screeching for a lifetime! Shut your vocalizer!"  
"Someone's in a frenzy!" Starscream shouted, circling above before he transformed and landed on the road. The rest of the mechs transformed, each one reverting to their root form as they stood angrily, watching the confrontation take place. Soundwave unfolded himself from within his perch inside Hook, standing almost bored off to the side. No doubt he was relaying the entire incident back to Megatron and cataloguing the events for his future uses.  
Sideswipe and Jazz each shied back, falling into the tree line on the sides of the road. Jazz waved for Sideswipe to stay silent, to not move, and they faded from view as their optics dimmed.  
"I'm sick of you!" Brawl shouted. "Your ideas! Your plans! Your gloating! I'm sick of it all! I just want to offline you permanently!"  
"Go ahead and try!" Starscream braced himself, his null rays rising to fire.  
Suddenly Soundwave stepped forward, his visor flashing crimson, and all evidence of boredom vanished. He turned, pointing down the dark stretch of road and into the sky. "Autobots!" He droned, pointing at the flashing glints and specs of metal amongst the clouds that were Skydive and Slingshot. "Attack!"  
As one, the Decepticons turned to attack the incoming Aerialbots, their previous discord set aside for the moment. Starscream hissed and transformed, rising to take on the Aerialbots himself while the ground mechs took up firing positions in their root forms.  
Sideswipe's flashing optics met Jazz's across the road as he comm'd over. "They're going to take out Slingshot and Skydive!"  
Jazz's visor flashed back, creeping toward the road. He answered Sideswipe's internal comm carefully, ever watchful of Soundwave so close by. He'd no doubt be picking up on their presence very soon as well. "Do you have any grenades?"  
Sideswipe thought back to the chaos of his departure from his quarters earlier. He hadn't a clue where his grenades were. "No."  
"I've got some. I'm going to blow these guys. Get ready to haul aft back to the refinery."  
Sideswipe pinged back an affirmative just as Soundwave's helm twisted and peered into the darkness of the road at his position.  
Soft clangs, the metallic sounds of impact and the thumps of grenades landing in the dirt interrupted whatever Soundwave was about to say. From across the road, Sideswipe saw Jazz begin to move, winding his way back down the road amongst the trees, gaining precious meters with each footfall away from the soon-to-be-explosive road.  
"Grenades!" Soundwave intoned. "Fall back!" The Decepticons scattered, no longer caring about backing up Starscream against the Aerialbots, and they fled the road in droves, racing away from the lobbed, ticking flash grenades. Jazz and Sideswipe burst out onto the road and transformed, gunning their engines hard and tearing back toward the refinery, just as the mass of their bombs exploded. Crashing booms reverberated all around, shaking the trail and desecrating the forest hugging the edges of the road as explosive forces rendered the trunks to splinters. Concrete broke apart, shattering to fractional bits that flew through the air as projectiles, overtaking several of the fleeing Decepticons entirely.  
Above, Starscream whirled, caught off guard by the explosion beneath him. Skydive and Slingshot, previously targeted, seized upon Starscream's distraction with relish, turning the tables easily and succinctly. Starscream's wings were grazed in a hail of laser fire, the two brothers raging over his form as they criss-crossed their shots.  
Starscream shouted in frustration, circling away and rolling back down to the road. Slingshot and Skydive peeled off, their orders not including chasing Starscream back to where he was headed, and instead flew low down to the road, zooming above Jazz and Sideswipe's frantic race back to the refinery.

***

Sunstreaker swayed, his exhausted body automatically using the movement to calm Prowler without his conscious input. His optics, fractured with white lines of frantic worry and stretched out tiredness, stared out over the desert, willing the mechs to return in the next moment. Where were they? Where could they possibly be?  
It had been hours since the official end of the battle and the Decepticons were chased away in a combination of their rapid fleeing and the Autobots tearing after their heels and afterburners. From the sound of things, the Decepticons actually hadn't wanted to engage the Autobots, something that Red Alert found particularly suspicious. Sunstreaker hadn't cared much about the reasonings or the results; all he wanted was Sideswipe to return to the Ark, whole and in one piece.  
While Sunstreaker remembered the almost painful way the after-battle situational cleanup, diplomacy, and squad after-action reviews stretched out, that knowledge did nothing to alleviate the burning need for his brother to be right back at his side. Battle was not the place for them to be separated. Nothing was supposed to separate them, not ever.  
Finally, dust clouds bloomed on the horizon, the sight almost beautifully perfect to Sunstreaker. The clouds were illuminated by the headlights of the returning convoy, ghostly forms hovering before their alt modes. He sighed explosively, wilting as the force of the exhaustion he'd kept at bay finally reasserted itself. All he had to do now was wait and they would be back, Sideswipe with the rest.  
Unfortunately, waiting was never his strong suit.  
The dust cloud grew larger, the combined drives of nearly the entirety of the Autobot regiment on Earth returning home. Just as the night sky began to lighten, the faintest tinges of pink sunlight beginning to warm the sky across the terminator, the Autobots returned home.  
Prowl, Jazz and Prime led the way, Ironhide and Trailbreaker bringing up the rear. Sideswipe drove behind the Command Staff, in between the squads and the officers and feeling a part of neither group. The drive home had been done quietly, a minimum amount of conversation clattering over the comm channels, the mechs too tired to talk animatedly about the battle or to ponder over the mysterious arising of the Decepticons once more.  
Sunstreaker stood off to the side, glowering with one hand resting over his covered sparkling's back. His swaying finally stopped as his optics traveled over the group, narrowing as they zeroed in on the red plating and broad chestplates of his brother. Sideswipe met his gaze tiredly, a tiny smile barely quirking the edges of his lips. Char marks dotted his armor, dark scores against his plating from heat and laser fire, and dents and jagged scratches from the flying debris of his and Jazz's grenade attack were stretched across his chestplates and shoulders. Sunstreaker took it all in as Sideswipe moved toward him, slipping through the crowd of milling mechs and intent on getting back to his brother.  
Prime spoke just as Sideswipe reached Sunstreaker's side. "Everybody, get some rest. Protoform crew for the first shift. Squad leaders, take care of the arrangements." He paused, and Sideswipe sighed, his helm rolling around on its joints. "Good work out there everyone."  
The crew began to separate, heading inside in small groups and pairs as shift rotations were swapped and the few mechs staying on first shift slowly dragged themselves to duty. Sideswipe turned to Sunstreaker, one hand reaching out gently and grazing over his hip. "Did you wait for me, Sunny?"  
Sunstreaker scowled heavily, his optics tracing over every last one of the burns and scratches on Sideswipe's armor. Each one was a blow of failure to Sunstreaker's spark, a certainty that if he'd been out there with his brother, none of them would have ever landed on his plating. "Yes," he finally grunted, nodding jerkily.  
Sideswipe smiled, his dim optics finally shining. One hand rose, stroking over his sparkling's blanket-covered helm and back, careful not to wake him. "How is he?" Sideswipe whispered.  
"Grumpy," Sunstreaker grumbled, his one-word answers short and his scowl never leaving his faceplates.  
Sideswipe's fingers stroked over Sunstreaker's hip, then dropped from his side. It was the most they'd touched each other in public, or truly had even been seen together in public, since everything had come out. "Let's get back," Sideswipe said softly. "I have a few hours until I need to be on the Command Deck."  
Prowl appeared at their sides, trailing Jazz, the both of them looking worn on the edges. Jazz's plating had similar mars, scratches, and scorches from their hair-splitting race away from the Decepticons and the grenades, and the subsequent dodging of laser fire as they raced back into the frenzy of the battle, just as the rest of the Decepticons were pulling out. Prowl's normally stoic face was pinched, his lips pressed tighter than normal.  
"Sunstreaker," Prowl began, nodding to the yellow twin and glancing at the blanket covered blob clutched to his shoulder and chestplates. "Sideswipe, you can report for duty on the Command Deck at midshift." He paused, a thin smile peeking out. "Get some rest, you three."  
Sideswipe smiled, gratitude pouring from his gaze. Sunstreaker nodded, his customary glower and scowl fixed to his expression, and before Prowl could say another word, Sunstreaker was moving off and heading back into the Ark and to their quarters. Sideswipe quickly thanked Prowl, and then jogged to catch up to his brother.

***

Prowl watched them move off, Sunstreaker all stiffness and tense angles while Sideswipe's shoulders dropped with exhaustion. Still, Prowl saw Sunstreaker steal glances across at his brother, worry creasing the tough lines of his expression.  
"Blatant favoritism?" Jazz said softly behind Prowl.  
Prowl turned halfway, glancing over his shoulder. Jazz's hands were on his hips, his visor pulsing, but dim. A tired smile quirked his lips up as he tilted his helm at Jazz's question. "Guilty," he said softly, nodding.  
Instead of commenting, Jazz snorted. Prowl sighed and turned to face him, his doorwings stretching as he moved. "Prime's called for a debrief at the midshift. What do you think is going on?"  
Jazz sighed as well, his helm tilting. "Man, I don't even know." He paused, chewing on his lower lip briefly. "Want me to grab some energon and meet you in your office? We can toss some ideas around before the meeting?"  
Smiling, Prowl nodded. "Energon would be great."  
Jazz quirked a small grin back to Prowl before moving off, following the mess of mechs back into the Ark. "I'll see you in a few."

***

Bluestreak's optics narrowed as he caught sight of the twins. "Look, there goes 'Chuckles' and his pet," he spat out beneath his breath.  
Smokescreen twisted around, glancing behind him as the twins crossed the main corridor junction and headed down their branch to their quarters. Sunstreaker cradled his sparkling close, though no one could see his little frame at all beneath the blanket. As Smokescreen watched, Sideswipe's hand rose to rest on the small of Sunstreaker's back, just over his backstruts.  
Bluestreak snorted in disgust, and after watching the twins for several more seconds, Smokescreen slowly turned back around. Bluestreak was leaning against the corridor, his shoulder digging into the plating with his doorwings dropped low, a sign of his exhaustion. "Don't know why Sideswipe is with him," Bluestreak grumbled, frowning. "I wonder if Sunstreaker sparked on purpose, you know, trying to trap Sideswipe? Keep him to himself?" His optics darted over to Smokescreen, dark and tempestuous.  
Smokescreen twisted around once more, staring at the retreating backs of the twins. Sideswipe's hand was still on Sunstreaker's backplates, and their bodies had moved together, nearly walking plating to plating. "I don't know," Smokescreen sighed, turning back around. "He seems happy enough."  
"Happy?" Bluestreak snorted, pushing himself off the bulkhead as his doorwings fluttered. "How can anyone be happy with Sunstreaker? The word isn't in his databank."  
Smokescreen stared down at the decking, not answering.  
"Whatever," Bluestreak mumbled. "Why are we even talking about them? We have much better things to be doing. C'mon, Smokey, lets go get some rest, that battle sucked slag, and we lost a whole night thanks to those stupid 'Cons."  
Smokescreen finally looked up, smiling softly at Bluestreak's chatter. Bluestreak never had a mental filter on his vocalizer, and anything that entered his processor was fair game to spill from his lips. It was an endearing quality to his friend, though it took some getting used to. "Lead on," Smokescreen said with a smile.  
Bluestreak headed down the corridor to his own quarters, Smokescreen tagging along behind. "If we're lucky, we can still catch some of the late night movies. Man, remember how bad those were? I mean, you could even see the strings on the special effects on those space ships."  
Smokescreen chuckled. "They were pretty bad."  
Bluestreak punched in his door code, letting Smokescreen slip in first. They moved to the couch, dropping their rifles haphazardly on the center table before slumping down in exhaustion. "Ugh, we'll clean those later," Bluestreak grumbled, swiping the controller and turning on the television.  
"Good morning, America, I'm Meredith Viera…"  
Bluestreak groaned, his arm dropping to the couch. "This sucks. All that's on are the morning news shows." He sighed heavily, slumping back as his doorwings flattened downward, out of the way. "That's when you know you've been online way too long."  
Silence met Bluestreak's words. He twisted his helm, rolling it against the couch, and finally spotted Smokescreen slumped back and entirely offline, his mouth dropped slightly open. Exhaustion had overtaken his body as soon as he sat down, and Bluestreak's couch had been the perfect place, his processor decided, to recharge.  
Bluestreak smiled and turned back to the TV. He tuned the volume down before hefting his legs up to rest his heels on the low table before the couch. His ankles rolled outwards, his legs spread akimbo, and slowly, Bluestreak began to drift off as well. The last thing he was aware of was the morning newscaster reporting on the disturbing news of a nighttime raid by the resurgent Decepticons, striking out of nowhere.

***

Prowl sat in his office, staring out into the nothingness of the air. His processor whirled, but he wasn't quite sure what he was thinking.  
Before, back before he and Jazz had become friends, back before the war had ended, and back before he even liked his fellow officer at all, he had always rankled with Jazz over the battles, the incursions, the encounters they'd had with the Decepticons. Jazz had always seemed to rip his carefully laid plans to shreds, deciding on a whim to make up his own way with his own team. At the end of each battle, Prowl had been left alternately frustrated or irritated, his concerns and protests always falling on deaf audials. Jazz hadn't particularly cared about Prowl's requests to follow the plans, and had instead insisted that his team was designed for flexibility and was supposed to augment Prowl's detachment, not fall within it.  
What was so different now? Here they were, at the end of another battle, and instead of irritation or frustration, Prowl was waiting expectantly for Jazz and was looking forward to their upcoming discussion. He wondered what Jazz had seen out there, and just what sorts of conclusions his keen processor had already started to form. Prowl checked his chronometer. Jazz should return any moment.  
What then, was different? Jazz had still acted on his own. He had driven off at the start, rendezvousing with Mirage prior to Prowl's initial assessment of the battle, taking charge of his own unit and acting regardless of Prowl's wishes or desires to the matter.  
In truth, Prowl didn't have a desire on the matter that evening, he was so thoroughly stunned by the suddenness of the attack, and since Jazz's intel had benefitted the Autobots, it had all worked out.  
But wasn't the principle of the matter still the same? Hadn't Jazz gone off on his own again? And, in the end? When Jazz had decided to track Starscream's fleeing Decepticons? More actions by the seat of his aft.  
And yet… something was different. Jazz had requested, seeking consensus and input from Prowl instead of blindly, blithely acting, boldly racing in without regard for his fellow officer or his carefully laid plans. They had worked together tonight, and for the first time, Prowl had realized just what that meant. They weren't operating on just the same page. They wrote that page, that plan, together.  
Why? What was so different? Prowl's processor puzzled over the situation, circling around and around until he came back to the same, simple reason, so simple it was almost obscene: respect.  
There was finally a measure of respect between them, a shared respect borne out of admiration for each other's work, their passions to the Autobots, their commands, and their vastly different styles. Seeing Jazz in action had cemented the amorphous and yet deeply seated feelings of high esteem and fond regard he had nurtured for Jazz since his daring rescue of Sunstreaker. They had been sociable before, polite, but now…  
It struck Prowl suddenly that it was only after he had had Jazz's mouth and body hot on his own that he had actually realized the fullness of this shared respect. Before, back before, he would have thought that such actions would undermine any respect, destroy any legitimacy he might have had with Jazz, or with any of his mechs.  
Instead, with Jazz, and with the twins, the more he opened up, the more they seemed to enjoy him. Instead of finding him wanting, instead of seeing the mech and not the rank, the mech had augmented the rank. The mech had become a friend. With Jazz, perhaps more.  
Prowl's office chime interrupted the sudden turn in his thoughts, and he buzzed Jazz in wordlessly. Jazz smiled as he carried their cubes across to Prowl's desk, setting Prowl's down first before sprawling backwards in his guest chair with a loud sigh.  
"Man, I'd almost forgotten how exhausting those things were," Jazz said, stretching his legs out in front of him.  
Prowl chuckled, but said nothing, his optics catching over the lines of Jazz's body.  
"Sunny looked pretty worried, huh?" Jazz sipped from his cube, meeting Prowl's gaze. "Did he stay online all night?"  
"I'm sure he did," Prowl said softly. "Sideswipe was unusually quiet as well."  
Jazz nodded, his lips pursed. Silence stretched out between the two officers, familiarity and tiredness allowing them to relax in each other's company. Jazz tilted his helm back, offlining his optics and visor as he allowed his helm to flop backwards, his neck and throat arching high.  
Prowl stared, his vents catching slightly.  
"About last night," Prowl began slowly, picking his words carefully. He looked away, down at his hands. "About what happened between… us."  
_And here it is_ , Jazz thought, finality sinking into his tank. It was too much to hope that there actually was some mech out there for him. Beyond any imaginable thought, beyond any impossible, crazy, strung-out dream, he and Prowl had found common ground, more common ground than he'd found with any mech, ever. But, they'd crossed a line, and there wasn't any going back now. It was either full steam ahead, no holds barred… Or not. Jazz wasn't sure Prowl wanted anything like that, and after he had pressed his superior down into the grass, nearly humping him with abandon as he had tried to climb into his kiss, he really wasn't sure what to think. Nothing he knew about Prowl leant itself to answering Jazz's questioning concerns, and a small part of his processor had been playing over what had happened between them on the grassy hillside all night. He had liked it. He had really liked it. But what did Prowl think?  
Could anything come from this crazy, unexpected attraction? For the first time in a long, long while, Jazz hoped.  
Prowl sighed, inhaling deeply before exhaling a long, slow breath. Finally, his optics rose, meeting Jazz's with a burning intensity. "I liked it," Prowl said, his voice pitched nearly an octave too low. "I liked it a lot."  
Jazz's visor surged, his mouth dropping open. For a moment, he couldn't think, and all that he could do was follow along with his spark's happy fluttering. Finally he smiled, quirking a short grin in time with a small bark of laughter. "Well, that's good to know," he drawled out slowly. "Considering I liked it a whole lot too."  
Their optics met and held, small smiles sticking to their faceplates.  
Jazz broke the silence first. "You know, Prowl," he began slowly. "I'm not really a mech for 'commitment.'"  
Prowl swallowed, nodding slowly. He'd seen Jazz date numerous, numerous mechs over the years, never settling with any one mech, never lasting very long with any. What had possessed him to pursue Jazz, of all mechs, was entirely unknown, even to him.  
"But," Jazz continued, playing with the edge of his cube. "I think I might be able to figure it out. I think… I might want to try." He held Prowl's gaze, his face pinched and apprehensive. He'd never met a mech he wanted to stay with, never met one who had truly, truly seen him… but Prowl threatened to tear all that to shreds. He felt exposed with Prowl, and it was on the one hand exhilarating… and on the other, terrifying.  
Prowl smiled, his doorwings fluttering up and down along his backplates, one long arc of movement before resettling in their hinges. "I think," Prowl said softly, "that I want to go on another date with you."

***

Sideswipe dropped his rifle almost as soon as he walked into their quarters. It clanged to the ground loudly, and Sunstreaker shot him a harsh glare, his hand rising to cup Prowler's helm.  
Sideswipe cringed, then held his breath as Prowler's optics slowly onlined. Prowler's small face twisted, ready to cry, until his gaze fell on Sideswipe. He froze, staring at Sideswipe, uncertain if he wanted to cry or not any longer.  
"C'mere, Bug," Sideswipe whispered, quickly moving to Sunstreaker's side and taking their sparkling from his brother's arms. Sideswipe brought Prowler up to his chestplates, holding him close and directly over his spark as he stared down into his tired, tiny face. "I'm here, Bug," Sideswipe whispered. "I missed you so much."  
"Let's get some rest," Sunstreaker grumbled, moving to their berth. He clambered over the surface, almost falling in a heap at the far side before rolling over, waiting for Sideswipe to follow.  
Gently bouncing Prowler, Sideswipe crossed to their berth. Prowler's faceplates were scrunched up as he buried his face in the base of Sideswipe neck, but he refused to cry. He rolled to his side, bringing Prowler to the berth in between himself and Sunstreaker.  
Sunstreaker immediately closed the distance between them, tangling their legs together as his hand came to rest over Prowler. He kicked out once, another frown on his faceplates, but stilled with a small, hiccupping sigh.  
"You stink," Sunstreaker mumbled glaring at Sideswipe. He smelled of battle, of oil, ozone and scorched metal.  
Sideswipe smiled weakly, his optics flickering. "You always say the best things to me."  
"I wish I was out there with you. Not stuck here, being useless."  
Sideswipe optics surged momentarily as his fingers reached for Sunstreaker's on top of Prowler's belly. "You're not useless, Sunny."  
"I'm useless to the Autobots," Sunstreaker grumbled.  
"You're not useless to me…" Sideswipe's voice trailed off as recharge finally overtook his body.  
Only when Sideswipe was finally offline did Sunstreaker allow his pained scowl to fall from his faceplates and for his spark to unclench from its frantic place of worry knotted in his chest. He squeezed down on his brother's fingers and watched the gentle rise and fall of Sideswipe's recharging ventilations until he too finally fell into a fitful recharge.


	3. Chapter 3

Sideswipe stayed solidly in recharge until just before he had to report back to the Command Deck for the midshift. Prowler, who had had a very uncomfortable night of crying and frustrated wails, stayed offline as well, curled half up against Sunstreaker and facing Sideswipe.  
Sunstreaker, however, woke in fits and starts, onlining suddenly to check on both Sideswipe and Prowler, jolts of worry shooting through him that something was wrong. Of course, nothing was, and each time he had to calm himself down to reinitiate recharge by curling around Prowler and staring into his brother's dirty, tired faceplates. Sunstreaker kept his fingers twined through Sideswipe's, as if the physical contact was his one tether to his brother. Sunstreaker's thoughts were turbid and conflicted, emotions from the night before having never quite left his processor.  
Prowler onlined alongside Sideswipe, grumpy and irritable after not having enough recharge, and was instantly fussing for energon. Sideswipe pulled Prowler into his arms with dim, sleepy optics, beating Sunstreaker to it. Sideswipe pushed himself up to lean sloppily against the bulkhead behind their berth.  
Sunstreaker frowned, his optics roaming over Sideswipe's burns and battle damages once more. "You need a wash," he grumbled.  
Rolling his helm against the bulkhead, Sideswipe fixed a wry smile toward Sunstreaker. "I'll clean the berth later, Sunny. I was a little more interested in getting some recharge in than waxing last night."  
Sunstreaker looked away. He couldn't care less about the berth, or about the smudges of soot Sideswipe had left on his hands. At least Sideswipe was still there to leave smudges on his hands, and thanks to him being useless and left behind on the Ark, Sideswipe may well have not been 'alright.' Each of those burns and jagged slashes of battle damage sliced a tear through Sunstreaker's fierce pride, through the identity he'd maintained of always being able to protect and defend his brother in battle.  
Sideswipe passed Prowler over to Sunstreaker and stood tiredly, sighing as his joints popped and groaned with soot and lack of lubrication. He stretched, rolling his neck around. Finally, Sideswipe seemed to notice something unusual about his brother. Sunstreaker seemed more quiet than normal, and his glower was of a different variety than his normal scowls. "Sunny?" Sideswipe asked, peering down.  
Sunstreaker shook his helm, turning to look down at Prowler. "You need to go," he grunted.  
"Sunny…" Sideswipe frowned. "What's wrong?"  
Again, Sunstreaker shook his helm, frowning. He said nothing. His thoughts were still swirling amidst a mess of confusion, failure and dejection. He'd failed his brother last night, he'd failed Prowler, and he'd failed the Autobots as well. Here he was, useless, nothing but an energon filter, and his brother was out there fighting battles once more. He'd survived last night, but what about the next time? What if Sunstreaker wasn't there and Sideswipe needed him? Insidiously, almost unheard and slipping through the darkness of Sunstreaker's processor, a new thought emerged: what if he was never needed again? "I'll see you after your shift," Sunstreaker grumbled.  
Sideswipe stared down at Sunstreaker, his optics burning with worry. "Alright," he said softly. "Maybe we can do something after our shift? You and me?" Sideswipe pushed his knee up against Sunstreaker's, rubbing his plating gently.  
Nodding faintly, Sunstreaker's didn't look up.  
"I'll see you in a little bit then," Sideswipe finally said, leaning down to plant a kiss to the back of Prowler's helm. His optics held Sunstreaker's, and he leaned in after a heavy moment, pressing a quick kiss to Sunstreaker's cheek as well. Sunstreaker grunted at the contact, but he rose and followed Sideswipe as he made his way across their quarters to the door.  
"See you later," Sunstreaker said softly, patting Prowler on the back and swaying him gently as Sideswipe ducked out of their quarters to head up to the Command Deck. The doors slid shut, leaving Sunstreaker and Prowler all alone.  
Once again, Sunstreaker felt utterly useless.

***

Everyone was still tired when the Command Staff slid into position around the central computer terminal in Prime's office. Pinched looks of weariness and worry lined everyone gazes, and the chatter was muted as they waited for the meeting to begin. Sideswipe slid into place alongside Trailbreaker, who nodded politely at him, and smiled across over toward Prowl and Jazz. Jazz smiled back and waved before heaving a sigh and propping his hands up on his hips in a resigned slouch. Ratchet and Prime exchanged a few words in private off to the side before Prime strode back to the group and called the meeting to order. "Alright everyone, let's begin. I want to hear your reports from last night, and any theories on what this resurgence means." Prime's gaze roamed around the room, fixing to each of their optics.  
Prowl and Jazz exchanged quick looks. They had been up all night, running through the battle and the small bits of information Jazz and Sideswipe had been able to glean from their trail of Starscream and the convoy headed north. They didn't have much to go on, though, and their theories were more wild speculation than anything based in hard fact.  
Prowl spoke first, consulting his data pad. "We can all agree that the most surprising aspect of this resurgence is the Decepticons seemingly-renewed power. Personally, I expected some show of desperation from the Decepticons once they ran out of their stores of energon and had been hounded to near exhaustion. All estimates put that timeframe at approximately one year from now. This, I did not expect," Prowl shook his helm.  
"They've been doing something to power themselves up, and what was left of their stores after the humans destroyed the Nemesis was not enough to keep every member up to full fighting strength for this long." Ratchet, frowning, crossed his arms over his chest.  
"Intel suggested they were instituting heavy rationing." Jazz, still with his hands propped up on his hips, tilted his helm sideways as he peered across at Sideswipe. "The whole reason for their attack on Sunstreaker was because they needed more sources of energy."  
Sideswipe shifted across his feet as everyone's optics briefly flickered toward him. Not that everyone didn't of course know that he and Sunstreaker had Prowler, but since it was never spoken of, never addressed, and never, ever acknowledged aside from their small handful of friends, Sideswipe was still uncomfortable about speaking about Prowler. Most everyone wanted to pretend that their sparkling didn't exist.  
"There haven't been any reports of raids or attacks, or any unusual occurrences at any of the humans' fuel facilities. No oil rigs have been attacked, no fuel lines severed, no refineries destroyed… until last night." Prowl frowned, glancing over at Jazz.  
"They haven't been going off on one of Megatron or Soundwave's new schemes for superpower, have they? No new Crystal of Burma, or Mayan artifact?" Prime frowned back at Prowl, still uncertain about the mysterious powers harnessed and contained within all the various histories and factions of Earth's history. Nothing was cut and dried on Earth as it was on Cybertron, and the organics, with all their rich history, had capabilities for energy, potentiality, and hidden dangers that far surpassed anything back home.  
A quick glance between Prowl and Jazz, and then both shook their helms in unison. "No, Prime," Prowl said. "There's been no intelligence for that."  
"There hasn't been any intel for anything, Prime," Jazz said, kicking his feet against the decking lightly. "They pretty much dropped off the face of the planet for the last six months!"  
"Am I the only one thinking about the obvious?" Ironhide, standing in the corner and scowling, growled out toward the rest of the office.  
Everyone turned toward him as one. Ratchet frowned and re-crossed his arms while Wheeljack tilted his helm curiously. Prime turned fully around, glancing questioningly at the angry Ironhide before beckoning him closer to the group. Trailbreaker stepped forward, trying to move closer to hear Ironhide better while Sideswipe shied backwards slightly. He hadn't fixed anything with Ironhide, and after what had happened with Prowl, he didn't think anything would ever fix Ironhide and his and Sunstreaker's relationship.  
Prowl fixed a firm, steely gaze toward Ironhide, holding his scowling optics as the temperature plunged throughout the office. Ironhide glared back, his shoulders rising as he hefted another angry inhale before looking away.  
Finally, Jazz broke the tense moment that had settled over the office before it became overly noticeable. "No, Ironhide. You're not."  
Prowl's helm whipped over to Jazz, frowning in confusion. Ironhide nodded to Jazz, then turned to Prime and the rest of the group. "It's pretty obvious what they've been up to, isn't it?"  
"Enlighten us, 'Hide," Ratchet growled, well through with the frustrations that had fixed themselves amongst the crew.  
Ironhide glanced across to Sideswipe, his dark glare returning. "They went after Sunny for his sparkling." Hearing Ironhide talk about sparklings seemed wrong somehow, as if the gentle words of sparklings and all such soft, growing things weren't meant to come from Ironhide's warrior mouth. "Ratch, you know what they were doing." Ironhide waved his hand idly toward Ratchet. The mechanics of what the Decepticons were trying to do with Sunstreaker's sparkling after they had ripped it from his destroyed body were out of Ironhide's field of expertise. "But, it's not that hard to make sparklings, you know. I mean, we all have the parts to do so." Ironhide shifted, uncomfortable with the situation. "Your sparkling was an accident," he grunted, speaking to Sideswipe for one of the first times since Sideswipe's revelation of his and his brother's love affair. "And they wanted to capitalize on it. We stopped 'em. But that doesn't mean they can't have made their own."  
Silence filled Prime's office as Ironhide's choked off words sank in. Jazz was nodding sadly, slowly, and Prowl had a stricken and angry expression stretched across his faceplates. Trailbreaker was absorbed in his data pad, tapping out random glyphs. Ratchet heaved a heavy sigh as he looked down at the decking, while Wheeljack's audial fins flashed and dimmed slowly. Sideswipe, standing apart, felt his tanks drop out from within him, already churning at the memory of Sunstreaker's abduction and horrific assault against both him and their sparkling.  
Prime spoke first. No one else could. "You're saying that you think they have created their own sparklings? To use their proto-sparks as power sources?"  
"They wouldn't need but a handful, Prime," Ratchet grunted softly.  
"You're talking about the creation of sparklings specifically for the purpose of termination," Prowl protested, his voice rising. "Specifically to be used as sources of power!"  
"Do you really think the Decepticons aren't capable of that, Prowl?" Jazz twisted around, staring at Prowl with thick, heavy optics shining from behind his visor.  
Silence once again filled the office, punctuated only by the sound of Prowl's doorwings, vibrating with unshed emotion. Sideswipe swallowed, his processor spinning as his spark ached. _That could have been Prowler,_ his spark screamed.  
"How does this work, exactly, Ratchet?" Prime asked, tapping out a soft pattern against his desk with his fingertips.  
Ratchet's faceplates twisted before he spoke, his voice thick and deep. "After the sparkling's spark is forcibly separated from the parent's spark, it can be placed in a power unit, and as long as it is properly sustained, it will continue to mature. It will grow into the new system it was transplanted to, powering it as it unites with the operations and mainframe. There used to be a lot of research into different ways to generate adaptable and artificially enlightened machines through this kind of research, but no one wanted to actually utilize sparkling sparks."  
"There was research done on this?" Sideswipe, his processor clouded with thoughts of Prowler, choked out.  
"Mostly done when the carrier passed or offlined before finishing their carrying, and the sparkling's spark wasn't able to survive early emergence," Ratchet said, twisting to look at Sideswipe. "We're talking a long time ago, and it fell out of practice. The science is sound though, and it can work." Ratchet paused. "And work well," he added with a growl.  
"It is plausible," Trailbreaker finally said, looking up from his pad. "There's not much the Decepticons won't do, and I don't think this is anything that would fall within their warped ideals of morality."  
"How do you know all this, Ratchet?" Prowl asked.  
Pausing before he answered, Ratchet turned to face Prowl. "Because I used to conduct some of the research," he finally said. "I was working in Iacon with a research hospital."  
"You what?" Sideswipe choked out, staring at Ratchet.  
"Not everything about this is evil," Ratchet snapped. "If Sunny died, I would have been able to regenerate his spark with his sparkling's spark. If one of you died, and the sparkling couldn't be saved, or the sparkline was too badly damaged for Prowler to survive, I could have revived them." Ratchet's optics burned into Sideswipe's. "I'd never murder anyone," he spat out. "But I rely on all means to save someone's life." Ratchet scowled, snapping angrily. "Seeing as you've benefited from some of my gambles in the life-saving department, Sideswipe, I don't think you can complain."  
Sideswipe shook his helm. "That could have been Prowler!"  
Ratchet sighed in exasperation and turned away.  
Prime spoke loudly, overpowering the rest of the office's tension and the quickly-descending brief. "Alright, that's enough. This remains a theory until we gather hard intelligence that supports this possible cause for the Decepticon resurgence. What we need to determine is not how they came to power, but why. What point and purpose are they after now?" Prime scanned the faces of his officer. "What's done is done. We must address the future, and do what we can to protect everyone we can." He paused, the silence growing heavy. "Including any potential creations the Decepticons may be planning on pursuing. Understood?"  
Helms bobbed and nodded around the office. "Let's start trying to figure out what they're up to then. Jazz, Sideswipe, let's go over what you saw and heard. "Prime turned toward Jazz, and the meeting continued on, refocusing on the possible desires and tactics of the Decepticons.  
Everyone's processor remained on the possibility of the Decepticons resurgence, however, and for Sideswipe, his thoughts were fixed firmly on Sunstreaker and Prowler.

***

Sunstreaker was waiting for Ratchet in the medbay when the medic returned from the Command Staff meeting up in Prime's office. Prowler was lying out on his belly on one of the medberths, exploring the brightly colored and smooth surface with his hands and little fingers. Small burbles and loud, excited chirps fell from his vocalizer, and a happy smile was fixed to his faceplates. Sunstreaker stood beside his berth, alternately rubbing his backplates and tapping out rhythms in front of Prowler's hands, trying to incite him to play and to grab at his own fingers. All of the previous night's frustrations, wailing, and discomfort were things of the past for Prowler.  
Ratchet stared at Sunstreaker as he strode in, heading to his office to drop his data pads on his desk. "What do you want?" he called over his shoulder. It had been a long night, and Ratchet had spent the remainder of it after the battle patching up the few wounds, burns and lacerations that had thankfully all been minor. Still, he hadn't had a chance to recharge, and the uncomfortable briefing only added to Ratchet's already strung-out frustrations.  
Ratchet dropped his pads and turned back to the medbay, stopping in his doorway to lean against the frame. He crossed his arms and kicked out one of his legs, sighing as he tilted his helm. "Then what are you doing here, Sunny?" Despite his harsh words, Ratchet's optics slid to Prowler and a softer look appeared within his tired gaze. It was only six months ago that they had almost lost Prowler and Sunstreaker, and the whole Ark had seemed to be torn apart. Ratchet couldn't speak to the status of the Ark, but Prowler was a healthy, happy sparkling, and Sunstreaker, though still as dramatic and touchy and irritable as ever, had seemed to privately bloom alongside Prowler.  
The dark thoughts and words from the Command Staff meeting still clung to the back of Ratchet's tired processor though. "Did you come to grate on my wiring?"  
Sunstreaker glanced up, glaring in his most friendly way toward Ratchet. "No," he said sullenly. He twisted his finger away from Prowler, rubbing his hand down along his backplating as Prowler squirmed. He was rocking himself now, and it wouldn't be long before he could roll himself to his sides, or all the way over. "I came to ask you for a favor," Sunstreaker said, his voice low.  
"A favor?" Ratchet's optic ridges arched high. "How many of those have I given you now? When's my payback, hmm?"  
Sunstreaker frowned. "I protected you in battle. Kept you alive while you were working." Sunstreaker's glare deepened. "That counts."  
Ratchet snorted, pushing himself off the doorframe. "Sure thing, Sunny. We missed you last night, you know."  
His jab hit too close, and Sunstreaker glowered, huffing angrily through his vents. "That's why I'm here," he grumbled. "I want to fight again. I don't want to be left behind." Sunstreaker glared hard at Ratchet.  
Again, Ratchet's optic ridges rose. "That's going to be hard, Sunstreaker. Who's going to watch Prowler if you go out with your squad? Who's going to take care of him if you get hurt? For that matter, which squad are you on anymore? You've been taken off of all rotations, and I doubt your old squad would welcome you back." Ratchet shook his helm. "Sunstreaker, I don't see how you can. There are a thousand things that can go wrong-"  
Sunstreaker cut Ratchet off. "You can watch Prowler."  
Ratchet's words stopped short, and he turned an incredulous look up to Sunstreaker. "Excuse me?"  
"You. You can watch Prowler. You like him." Sunstreaker's finger wandered down to Prowler's helm, and he gently tickled the side of Prowler's rounded cheek. Prowler tried to squirm away, falling to his shoulder as he tried to reach for Sunstreaker's fingers once more.  
"I can not watch Prowler, Sunstreaker. Not during battle." Ratchet shook his helm. "Most of the time, I'm out there with the squads-"  
"You're not supposed to be," Sunstreaker petulantly pointed out.  
"No, I'm not supposed to be, but since I'm the mech most likely to keep you all alive out there until we can get back to the Ark, I go," Ratchet said slowly. "And when I'm not out there, I'm back here preparing for all the injuries that you guys drag back with you. I'm listening to the battlenet, prepping the medbay, the surgical suite, or I'm on the Command Deck. I'm busy during battles, Sunstreaker, and I can't just put that aside to watch Prowler."  
Sunstreaker scowled deeply. "What about First Aid?"  
"First Aid is doing the same thing as me, Sunstreaker."  
"Hoist?"  
"Sunstreaker, he's doing the same thing as well. Red Alert, who also stays behind, is busy running Ark security and routing our satellite feeds and battlenet. He's not going to watch Prowler either. There is no one on the Ark who can be rerouted from their duties supporting everyone else just to watch Prowler." Ratchet leaned against the medberth. "Sunny, it's you. That's what happens when you're a parent: you are the caretaker. Your responsibilities, your roles, your duties… everything changes. That's why you're not on duty any more, and why you have no squad. Your duties, and your squad, are right here." Ratchet gestured to Prowler, who had grabbed onto Sunstreaker's finger and pulled it to his denta-plate-less mouth. His lips were moving over the digit, mouthing over the yellow plating as he rocked precariously on the side of his belly.  
Sunstreaker's expression darkened. His faceplates twisted, his scowl growing along with his frustrated pout. This was not what he wanted to hear, not at all. "But Sideswipe-"  
Ratchet cut Sunstreaker off. "That was supposed to be a private discussion between you and Sideswipe," Ratchet said, finality in his voice. He'd had enough of mediating between the twins for a lifetime. "You two need to figure out who is going to be the primary caretaker of Prowler. Who is going to be the one always there. Who is going to be the mech that Prowler can always rely on."  
"He can rely on us both," Sunstreaker grunted. "Sideswipe is just as there as I am."  
"Yes, he can," Ratchet said carefully. "But one of you is going to be the one to stay, and one of you will be the one to go. You both can't go to war and leave him behind, Sunstreaker." Ratchet sighed, his exhaustion far deeper this time than one mere missed night of recharge. "And unfortunately, both of you cannot be full time parents either. Not right now. One of you needs to go to war."  
Prowler, still mouthing at Sunstreaker's finger, finally overcame his body's resistance and tumbled over his side. He rolled for the first time, from his hovering on the side of his belly to his back. A look of startled surprised came over his faceplates and he let go of Sunstreaker's finger as his hands waved over his helm. Instantly, his little face and optics turned up to Sunstreaker, staring at his parent for reassurance.  
"He just rolled over," Sunstreaker mumbled. He stared down at his sparkling, all his anger vanishing from his gaze.  
"Congratulations," Ratchet chuckled, watching Prowler as he readjusted to being on his back. After a second, Prowler giggled, staring up into Sunstreaker's face as his hands clasped together. He chirped, a loud, happy yell bursting from his vocalizer as he giggled again. Sunstreaker's lips quirked and he rubbed at Prowler's smooth belly.  
"Prowler changes things, Sunny," Ratchet said softly, reaching out to finger at Prowler's cheek. "Your life is different now." He smiled, folding his arms back across his chest and looked up at Sunstreaker. "It's not so bad, huh?"  
Sunstreaker swallowed, staring down at his sparkling. Sideswipe's face flashed before his optics, then his exhausted, battered body sliding into the berth beside him, still smelling of smoke and battle. His life was different now, and the closer he seemed to move toward Sideswipe, with them finally coming together, with Prowler, their perfect creation, and with everything else, the more he was taken from Sideswipe's side as well.  
He didn't like that very much at all.

***

Sideswipe rolled his helm back and let the Ark's shower spray trickle down his front plating. The warm water brushed over his armor, rinsing away the soap suds he had scrubbed over his front, erasing all evidence of his battle the night prior. He smirked, albeit tiredly, as he washed, thinking of how Sunstreaker would appreciate how clean he looked. He hoped Sunstreaker found him as handsome as he found Sunstreaker, but as he scrubbed on his scuffed forearm plating, Sideswipe wasn't so sure. Sideswipe's mood plunged further as he remembered Sunstreaker's grumpy attitude and distance that morning. He sighed, offlining his optics. Things had finally started to get better between them. Their day together yesterday, and the night before, had been perfection. It just wasn't fair that that was taken away so soon, so suddenly, and by the Decepticons again no less.  
The doors to the washracks slid open, and Sideswipe briefly glanced at the new arrival before twisting around to rinse his backplates. He still had dirt and junk on his backplates, and he'd need a bigger brush to take care of that mess.  
Jazz strode into the washracks, tossing a tired smile to Sideswipe before palming on his spigot and pouring a hefty squirt of wax-embedded soap into his palm. The sound of another rushing spigot of water almost drowned out Jazz's words as he turned toward Sideswipe. "How's it going, Sides?"  
Sideswipe shrugged as he bent down, rubbing suds into his shins and working his fingers through the joints of his knee and down his calf. "Alright. Pretty tired though." He smiled, though it was a tired shadow of his normally cheerful expression.  
Jazz nodded, beginning to rub the soap into his body and over his plating. "I hear ya," he said with a sigh. "I was really hoping we were done with those Decepticons." Sideswipe made a noise of agreement before Jazz continued. "So, how's Sunny? And Prowler?"  
This time, Sideswipe's smile was genuine. "They're alright. I think last night was rough on Prowler. They didn't get any recharge." Sideswipe remembered Sunstreaker, grouchy, exhausted and irritable, waiting for him at the Ark's entrance. It had meant an indescribable amount to him to see his brother there waiting for him and worried about him. "Sunny waited up all night."  
Jazz smiled broadly. "I bet he was worried sick 'bout you."  
Sideswipe's smile turned sad as he straightened. "I was worried about him too." What did it mean that the Decepticons were back? Was the war really beginning again? Where would that leave them, or Prowler? Raising a sparkling in the midst of a war zone was possibly the worst thing they could ever do.  
Jazz watched Sideswipe's thoughts turn inward for a long moment before he moved across the washracks. He grabbed at Sideswipe's soap bottle and upended another healthy dose into his palms. "Here, turn around," he said softly. "I'll get your back."  
Sideswipe started but turned around, and Jazz's hand began to scrub over his backplates and the stubborn dirt still clinging to his plating. "You know, 'Bee and I were thinking about putting together a lil' get together tonight. There are some good new movies out there that 'Bee can get copies of, and I think the crew could use a night to unwind. De-stress and all." Jazz paused, stepping back from Sideswipe's now-clean plating. "Mind if you do me?"  
Nodding, Sideswipe grabbed the soap and motioned for Jazz to turn around. Jazz continued speaking when Sideswipe remained silent. "I'm saying, Sides, that you and Sunny should come. You guys should join us tonight in the Rec Room."  
This time, Sideswipe did react, and he drew himself up slowly from his scrub of Jazz's backplates. "Jazz… I dunno… The crew really doesn't like us, and they don't want us around at all…"  
"So?" Jazz turned to glance at Sideswipe over his shoulder. "So what about the rest of them? You and Sunny are members of the crew too, and you two deserve to come and hang out and relax like everyone else. Slag, maybe more so." Jazz turned around, facing Sideswipe. "The crew is angry and still upset, yeah. You guys made a mess of things, yeah." He paused. "But that doesn't mean you can't move on. You gotta actually do something to try and move on though."  
"I know…" Sideswipe nodded slowly.  
"It would be a good opportunity for you and Sunny to get out and be together." Jazz poked Sideswipe's chestplates under the spray. "You two need that. Probably more than you think."  
Sideswipe grimaced. "I know," he said quietly.  
"Then come tonight." Jazz reached out and palmed off Sideswipe's spray. They were both squeaky-clean, and certainly drenched. "You don't have to talk to anyone. Just the two of you, out together for a fun movie."  
"What about Prowler?" Sideswipe's spark gave a small lurch. He hadn't spent much time with his sparkling thanks to the battle the night before, and he missed him just as much as he missed Sunstreaker.  
"We can find someone to watch him," Jazz said, squeezing Sideswipe on the shoulder briefly. "It will only be a couple hours tonight. You'll be back with your sparkling in no time."  
Sideswipe nodded again. The thought of spending time together with Sunstreaker, just the two of them relaxing as if it were old times, was an appealing suggestion. A movie wasn't so long, and they'd get back to Prowler right away. "I have to talk to Sunny, but… I think that might work, Jazz." He smiled as he glanced Jazz's way. He'd need to arrange everything before he brought it to Sunstreaker or his brother would fret and frown over being away from Prowler and the disturbance from their isolation. "Thanks."  
Jazz smiled. Hopefully, he'd be able to drag Prowl out for a date night as well. Since their kiss, all Jazz could think about was getting back to Prowl's side. His former professional nemesis had become his personal daydream, and doorwings, red chevrons and pliable, warm lips were featuring in a private movie in the back of his processor on constant looping. "Any time, Sides. Anytime. "

***

"I'd be more than happy to watch Prowler tonight, Sideswipe," Prowl said with a soft smile. "I didn't expect you to ask again so soon."  
Sideswipe shifted across his feet, chewing on his bottom lip. "It's only going to be for a few hours. Maybe two and a half. I want to spend some time with Prowler tonight, but… I think Jazz was right. It would be good for Sunny and me to get out for a bit."  
"And I agree as well," Prowl said, smiling with a small nod. He and Sideswipe moved together off the Command Deck, heading down the hallway and toward the officers garrison. Halfway there they spotted Jazz, padding toward them from the opposite direction.  
"Just the mech I wanted to see!" Jazz called out, smiling to both of them and winking at Prowl. "I've got the NSA wiretaps on the Decepticon frequencies for you. Nothing stands out, but wanna' go over them and see if the humans missed a decryption?"  
"Sure," Prowl said, nodding. He turned to Sideswipe. "After you've finished collecting and reviewing the squads' after-action reports, forward them to me and you can sign off." Prowl smiled faintly. "Go spend some time with Prowler before tonight."  
Grinning, Sideswipe nodded, and he turned to head back to the Command Deck, his own data pads and the downloaded squad reports clutched in his hands. He could wrap that up in just over an hour, and then he'd have the rest of the afternoon to spend with his family. The crew may be treating him and Sunstreaker like outcasts, and their sparkling like an invisible ghost, but Prowl's unexpected generosity more than made up for most all of that.  
Jazz leaned up against the bulkhead as Prowl unlocked his office. "So, you heard about tonight, huh?" He smirked at Prowl as he canted his helm to the side, his optics already wandering over Prowl's profile and his processor running at full speed down his merry path of fantasies.  
"I did," Prowl replied, stepping into his office and moving toward his desk. Jazz followed, his optics flickering over Prowl's doorwings and curved backside. "And I happily agreed to watch Prowler once more."  
That brought Jazz up short. "Oh really?" His optics finally rose from Prowl's hips to his optics as Prowl turned and settled into his desk.  
"Yes," Prowl replied simply, a small smile on his face. "I enjoy spending time with Prowler, and a few more hours this evening while the twins are having some time together will be good for everyone."  
Jazz slowly lowered himself into his seat before Prowl's desk, once more stretching his feet out and crossing them at his ankles. He exhaled slowly, a wry smile on his lips. "And here I was, trying to convince ya to go with me."  
Prowl glanced up sharply, staring into Jazz's gaze. His lips pressed together, a small, worried frown creasing his forehelm. "I wasn't sure about being so public, so soon," he said softly. "Plus, I made a promise to the twins. Helping them is very important to me." His voice trailed off, and he gazed at Jazz, trying to press his meaning.  
"I know." Jazz smiled back at Prowl. "I'll be taking you out on another date to make up for it, though, so keep your calendar clear." He winked behind his visor, his hands rising to lace behind his neck and helm.  
Smiling with thanks, Prowl's optics shone with a different intensity as they roamed over Jazz's plating. Jazz started, his systems kicking higher suddenly, and he froze as Prowl completed his slow, languorous inspection. "You may have my free time whenever you desire it," Prowl said softly, a low baritone in his voice.  
Jazz inhaled, his processor suddenly roaring with far too many scenarios of illicit, sensual actions, of grass and doorwings and pressing Prowl down as he hungrily kissed and devoured him. Primus, but it had been a long time for Jazz, and Prowl was fast becoming important to him… physically and emotionally. _Jazz, my man… watch out_ , he thought to himself.  
"Let's get to the NSA files. Maybe we can find something useful." Prowl scooped up Jazz's data pads, dropped on the edge of Prowl's desk, and began transmitting the files across to his terminal. The holoscreens popped up, and Prowl's fingers quickly worked through the databits and file names, sorting and organizing the information for review. Jazz watched, his attention caught between Prowl's nimble fingers, the quiet concentration lining his face, and the audio files streaming out of the NSA databanks. He scooted forward, forcing himself to focus and to put all thoughts of Prowl's delicious, delectable, desirable body out of his processor.

***

Wheeljack smiled behind his blast mask as the shuttle came in for an escorted landing. He was beaming, actually. His creations had taken flight.  
The Aerialbots flanked him on either side as Wheeljack brought the second of two shuttles he had designed, built and now successfully test flown in for a landing. Over time, the volcano they had crashed on had been blasted into, tunneled through and generally reformed into proper spaces, offices and quarters for their use. Just behind the volcano and connected to the base through a series of blown out tunnels was their new hangar. Wheeljack slowly twisted the shuttle as he lowered it from its hover, gently settling shuttle number two down in the flat spaces of the cavernous, protected, and rocky hangar. The Aerialbots followed suit, lowering themselves with far more speed and recklessness; they had landed in their hanger many a time.  
"That's a pretty maneuverable shuttle you've got there, Wheeljack," Silverbolt said over the comm as he transformed back to his root mode. "Nice flying up there!"  
Again, Wheeljack beamed behind his blastmask. The shuttles hydraulics settled as he began the power-down sequence, and the engines softly vented their heat wash against the back canyon wall. Ahead of Wheeljack and waiting before the shuttle, Skyfire, Perceptor, and Ratchet waited.  
"I'm not sure which one flew better, 'Jack," Skyfire called out over their shared comm. "Number one or number two?"  
"They both flew great," Wheeljack answered happily. His shuttles had exceeded his expectations.  
"Ahh, these bolt-buckets can't match the maneuverability of me!" Slingshot called out, already roughhousing and pushing on Air Raid.  
"You?" Air Raid pulled a face. "You're the slowest of everyone!"  
"Not anymore!" Slingshot slugged Air Raid across the arm, grinning wickedly.  
"Statistically, the performance difference of the two shuttles was negligible," Perceptor chimed in. "The recorded data for air speed, thrust, changes across the rotational axis and the overall maneuverability matrixes indicates that the shuttles perform above their specifications, and," Perceptor began to turn toward Slingshot, "perform at a range beyond-"  
"So, what are we going to name them?" Silverbolt interrupted loudly. "It's bad luck to not name a flyer!"  
"It's not a mech, 'Bolt," Air Raid shot back, hanging off of his brother as Sky Dive and Fireflight wandered underneath the shuttle's undercarriage, gazing at the plating and the welds with no small amount of admiration, though for entirely different reasons.  
"No, they're not mechs," Skyfire chuckled. "But they do need some names. Any suggestions?"  
Wheeljack, who had been listening in to the entire conversation over the comm, finally finished with his post flight operations and check sequences. He pushed himself out of the pilot's chair and jogged down the flight deck to the airlock, punching it open as he whistled happily to himself. With the successful test flight of his second shuttle and the culmination of the engineering department's aggressively timed six month project, things were looking up.  
As the airlock ramp lowered, Wheeljack met Ratchet's optics. Ratchet was smiling, pride and happiness for his lover evident, and as their gazes locked together, Wheeljack's happiness swelled once more. Having Ratchet there with him for the completion of this project meant more to Wheeljack than he could say. Things had really been going wonderfully on the Ark. Well, aside from the twins and the crew. And Prowl and Ironhide. And now, the resurgent Decepticons, of course. The night prior had been a shock to them all, and Wheeljack, fresh from his daytime test of Shuttle One, had hopped onboard the shuttle and brought it out to fly with Skyfire, providing recon and post battle assistance. Ratchet had been elbows-deep in the conflict once again, and the night after the battle had been hectic and rechargeless for them all. Wheeljack hadn't quite expected Ratchet to hang around for his second test flight, but there he was, smiling and waiting for him at the base of the ramp.  
"Nice flying out there, Jack," Ratchet called as Wheeljack descended to his side.  
Wheeljack's helm fins flashed a cheery blue. "Thanks, Ratch," he said, inhaling deeply as he crossed his arms over his chest and turned to glance back at his shuttle.  
"So, what should we call them?" Skyfire asked, moving to stand next to Ratchet and Wheeljack as he input the final time stamp for the conclusion of their test flight into the data pad in his hand.  
"Any suggestions?" Wheeljack twisted, glancing at Ratchet.  
Ratchet pursed his lips, thinking, just as Fireflight and Sky Dive poked their helms out from around the front end of the shuttle. "I like Cloud Burst!" Fireflight piped up, a happy lilt to his voice. "It was cool seeing the shuttle pop out of the clouds all huge like!"  
Ratchet chuckled as Slingshot and Air Raid collectively sighed, heaving their hefty shoulders as they shared a pained grimace. Silverbolt smiled at Fireflight before turning to Wheeljack and Skyfire. "How about Sky Line? It fits with the shuttles' mission."  
"Sky Line…" Wheeljack mused. He twisted around, glancing up at Skyfire. "What do you think?" His audial fins flashed a series of warm, happy blips.  
"I like it," Skyfire said, smiling. He peered down conspiratorially. "I even like Cloud Burst."  
"I second the names," Perceptor added, speaking from behind Skyfire as he joined the group.  
"Well then," Wheeljack said, sighing happily as he turned to face the parked shuttle once more. Air Raid and Slingshot were back to grappling and slapping at each other's helms while Fireflight and Sky Dive were discussing some interesting fascination on the forward landing gear. Silverbolt hung back with the rest of the officers, gazing up at the shuttle. "I do believe we have our shuttles."  
Unseen by the others, Ratchet's hand slipped up Wheeljack's backplating, squeezing him in a fond, congratulatory way on his shoulder. Wheeljack turned, and he met Ratchet's proud, loving optics in a silent stare of gratitude.

***

"Well, that settles it: the Decepticons, whatever they've been doing, have really been off the grid." Jazz leaned back tiredly in Prowl's office chair, stretching his legs out as he linked his hands behind his helm. He arched his back as he stretched his joints, and small pops echoed around the office. He cringed.  
Prowl shot Jazz a quick look. "You're not that old," he said.  
Jazz chuckled. "No, just beat from last night. We haven't recharged yet, you know."  
Prowl's optic ridges rose as he smiled a wry, tired smile. "I am fully aware of that." He sighed, turning his attention back to the data pads from the NSA. "None of the intercepts and cryptanalysis they collected suggests anything Decepticon in nature. They've been entirely underground, and then all of a sudden, back in action."  
"We're going to need some serious recon for this one. My intel didn't show any of this. We've got to start brand new, from the ground up." Jazz leaned forward, plucking up his own data pad and starting a new file with a few flicks of his fingers.  
"Agreed. I want to send an aerial recon out first. Skyfire, some of the Aerialbots. Let's pin down where they've gone, and hopefully that will give us a clue as to what they're up to."  
Jazz nodded. "I agree. Based on their burning rubber tracks out of the refinery, I think we need to set up a grid search pattern in this area." He keyed up a map of the northern west coast of North America, stretching from Washington state to Alaska.  
Prowl nodded as well. "Let's program Skyfire's sensors to scan for the ores of our protoforms."  
"I'll see if I can get Ratchet to program a scan sequence for spark frequencies too." Jazz made a quick note on his pad as Prowl murmured an acknowledgement. "Anything else?" Jazz looked up right as Prowl cycled his optics, restarting their tired power cells in an attempt to jog his weary processor.  
Chuckling, Jazz set down his data pad on the edge of Prowl's desk and leaned back in the chair once more, another joint-creaking stretch popping out of him. "I think we should pack this one in, Prowl," he said, grunting his words out at the peak of his stretch.  
"Indeed." Prowl rubbed his nose, pinching the bridge to try to help with the airflow to his tired, overworked, low-on-energy processor. "We've got a great start, though. Thank you for all of this." He turned a smile toward Jazz, slipping from his professional mode to his personal mode without so much as a conscious thought.  
Jazz stood from his chair, smiling. "We work well together, Prowl. Imagine the surprise!" He winked behind his visor, chuckling.  
Standing as well, Prowl let a small laugh fall from his lips too. "I'd never have believed it," he said, stacking his own data pads neatly as Jazz drummed the edges of his against the palm of his free hand. "I believe you have a party to plan for tonight?"  
"Nah, it's just a movie. 'Bee's getting that from the humans, and everyone else will just come and crash out. Nothing special, just something to take their processors off of stewing 'bout the 'Cons."  
Stepping out from around his desk, Prowl moved to join Jazz as they both headed toward Prowl's office door. "I think it's a fantastic idea."  
"If someone hadn't been ultra-nice-mech, we coulda gone to the movie together," Jazz gently teased.  
"If someone hadn't convinced Sideswipe to take his brother out on a date, my evening would be free," Prowl countered, casting Jazz a pointed look.  
"Ahh, it'll hopefully do them some good," Jazz said, swinging to a stop just before Prowl's door. Prowl stood before him, inhaling as he nodded. "Still gonna wish you were there though," Jazz said cheekily, grinning.  
Prowl's doorwings fluttered as the electric sensations of arousal, attraction and the first slips of falling cascaded through his systems. He could not put the feel of Jazz's body against his out of his processor. His doorwings jerked, fluttering . "I'll see you again very soon," he said, forcing himself to tear his gaze from Jazz's lips.  
"Yes you will," Jazz whispered, stepping closer to Prowl, closing the distance between them. He'd caught Prowl's stares, and the simple effect of catching Prowl's tightly controlled desire slipping out on display had ignited the core of his engine to white-hot screaming sparks, shooting out every which way. Delicately, teasingly, Jazz's helm brushed against the side of Prowl's. Smiling, Jazz breathed out, just in Prowl's audial, before twisting his lips to caress lazily down against Prowl's.  
A soft, gentle press of lips turned feral and fierce in three seconds flat. Tender nips gave way to possession, to glossa and lips sucking and claiming as their own. Jazz dropped his data pad, his hands rising to cup Prowl's face as he bodily moved him backwards. Prowl's arms grabbed at Jazz's waist, dragging him closer, pulling him into his body as Prowl's steps brought them hard up against the bulkhead, never breaking the intensity of their kiss.  
Jazz drove his body into Prowl's, pressing him back, and Prowl finally broke the kiss with a breathy, audible groan, moaning right into Jazz's panting mouth. Jazz gasped, his hands on Prowl's helm, and his fingers hovered just over Prowl's faceplates. He could feel Prowl's body heat, feel the pull of his engine, the surge in his systems, and a deeper part of Jazz wanted to just join with Prowl right then and there, against the wall of his office. He moaned, trying to stifle his surging desire.  
His optics wild, Prowl panted and he stared into Jazz's heated, burning gaze as his doorwings trembled against the metal bulkhead behind him. "Jazz," he whispered, though it came out more like a needy, gasping moan.  
Jazz fingers stroked soft trails down Prowl's cheek once more, faintly quivering off his plating, that same intensity still locked deep into his optics behind his visor. Jazz pulled back, visibly collecting himself as he stiffened and straightened. "Prowl," Jazz said, though his voice rumbled with the baritone of his arousal. He forced himself to step back, picking up his data pad. Jazz reached out with a slightly-shaking hand to palm open Prowl's office door. "I'll see you later," Jazz rumbled, half whispering his words in a breathy rasp of desire.  
Prowl's optics burned as he met Jazz's gaze, and it took a long, long moment for Jazz to turn and head out of Prowl's office. Prowl stared after him until his office doors slid shut and then collapsed back against the bulkhead with a shaking sigh. _Careful, Prowl_ , he thought. _You're playing with fire._

***

Sunstreaker gently bounced Prowler in his arms as they walked around their quarters. Prowler had just onlined from a short recharge nap, and he was still slowly pulling himself from his foggy sleepiness. Sunstreaker held him with one arm against his chestplates, and Prowler alternatively rested his helm on Sunstreaker's shoulder or looked out at what they were doing together. As he awakened, Prowler began to mouth at his own wrist, his sign of hunger and his form of self-comfort.  
"I know you're hungry, Prowler," Sunstreaker said softly. He'd never quite broken his habit of talking to Prowler from when he was still growing within his body. "But Sides is coming back early." Sunstreaker patted Prowler on the back as Prowler's tiny helm pitched sideways, nuzzling against Sunstreaker's neck and chin. Prowler's helm was tucked up against his neck as he grabbed his soft play blanket, a fuzzy, fleecy comforter made for a human child and featuring a parade of different cars. Sunstreaker tucked it under his arm before grabbing Prowler's small bin of toys – his painted energon cubes, his drooled-on Prime plushie, and a handmade xylophone from Wheeljack, made from old sparkplugs and gear shafts – and brought them both to their center floor area. They had pushed their couch and table closer to the TV and then had pushed their two berths together, leaving a larger floor space that they could play in.  
Prowler was extremely interested in Sunstreaker's activities, and he watched with wide-awake optics as Sunstreaker smoothed out his blanket and set up his toys.  
"All set, Prowler" Sunstreaker said softly. Despite Sideswipe's predilection for nicknames, Sunstreaker always called Prowler by his given name. "Down you go." He laid him down gently on the center of the blanket, a gruff, barely-there smile turning his lips. One of Sunstreaker's long, yellow fingers playfully batted at Prowler's tiny nose and soft chestplates. Prowler grinned, reaching out to try to catch Sunstreaker's finger. A happy coo gurgled from his vocalizer, and their optics met and held.  
Sunstreaker sighed. Was this truly his life? Was this what his life was to become? Fuzzy blankets and toy blocks and naptime and refueling? He stared down at Prowler, his sparkling, and his spark gave a lurch at the thought of comparing his life before Prowler to his life now. They weren't comparable, not in any way. Before, he was alone, lost and bitter, without Sideswipe, without Prowler, and with only the satisfaction of the war and of battles to keep him going.  
Now though… everything was different. Sunstreaker had Sideswipe and Prowler, but he'd lost the battles and the war. And slaggit, but he was good at being a fighter, and at going to war. He was fragging good at it, and everyone knew it. He had made an impact, and he was known. He was the best with Sideswipe. Could he be as good at anything else?  
This was his new squad, Ratchet had said. Prowler was his full responsibility. He just wished he could have it all. It still felt as if the addition of one thing, Prowler, meant the loss of another, and Sunstreaker was petrified that Sideswipe was going to drift away once more. It was a hard thought to admit. Sideswipe was on duty, reporting to shifts, receiving a promotion, leading mechs in battle, and doing all the things that their lives had been so full of before Prowler. He was back to their life, and back to what had made Sideswipe happy.  
And he was doing it without Sunstreaker.  
Their doors slid open and Sideswipe bounded inside, a wide smile on his face. Two cubes were balanced in his hands, and he made a beeline for the low couch table, setting them down before turning his full attention to Prowler and Sunstreaker. "Hey, Bug!" Sideswipe cried, crawling on the floor to Prowler's side. Prowler erupted in a fit of giggles and high-pitched shrieking, his standard greeting for Sideswipe when he was in his playful mood.  
Sideswipe rubbed his face against Prowler's, blowing a series of kisses all over his helm before he rose up to his knees and beamed at Sunstreaker, who was sitting hunched up on the other side of the blanket. "Hey Sunny," he said, leaning over Prowler's body to snag a kiss. "Did you get some rest?" Sunstreaker nodded as Sideswipe pulled back. Prowler shrieked again, his legs and arms kicking as he smiled, and Sideswipe turned his attention back down to his sparkling.  
"He rolled over today," Sunstreaker grunted. "From his belly to his back."  
"You did?" Sideswipe cried out, starting down at Prowler. "You're growing so fast! My little rolling Bug!" He ducked down and ran a smattering of kisses over Prowler's giggling body once more, making them extra noisy for good measure. . "Didn't we just bring him back yesterday?"  
Sunstreaker nodded. "So, what happened out there? Last night?" His optics focused into Sideswipe's, questioning and frustrated over his lack of knowledge.  
Inhaling quickly, Sideswipe looked away, glancing back down at Prowler. Their sparkling was kicking, pumping his little legs up at Sideswipe as he clasped and unclasped his hands with a wide, silly grin. Sideswipe's hand rubbed over his belly fondly for a long moment as Ironhide and Ratchet's words from the staff brief rang through his helm once more. _That could have been Prowler._  
"Sides?" Sunstreaker was frowning, leaning forward as he stared at his brother.  
Sideswipe shook his helm quickly, trying to shake off the bad memories. "We don't really know. The Decepticons are back, but no one is sure how." Sideswipe looked down, swirling his fingers over Prowler's belly to tickle him. He left out the part about using sparklings as batteries and the Decepticons possible re-rise to power. Would they have ever considered that path if it weren't for Sunstreaker and Prowler? Would this have even crossed their crazed processors?  
Prowler began to reach for his Prime plushie, rolling onto his side with jerky bounces. Sideswipe's hands traced over his side plating, then gently helped Prowler roll to his belly with a soft smile. Prowler stretched out with his arms, reaching for his toy as he bounced and rocked. He sucked his lip into his mouth in concentration, vocalizing a soft grunt of exertion. Smiling, Sideswipe pulled Prowler's stuffed toy across the blanket. Prowler grinned and immediately began mouthing at the stuffed arms of their leader and Prime. They could never let the human's gift out of their quarters, not after Prowler's drool and mouthing sessions.  
Turning back to his brother, Sideswipe tried to figure out how to fix the insidiously growing distance between them again. He was always trying to fix things, it seemed. He could never do anything right by Sunstreaker. "There's a movie tonight in the Rec Room," he said softly. "'Bee got one of those new releases digitally, so everyone decided to get together and blow off some steam from last night."  
"You going?"  
"I thought we could go," Sideswipe said gently. "Prowl's already volunteered to watch Prowler again, just for a few hours. It'd be nice to get out a bit, huh?" He smiled at Sunstreaker, trying to feel him out.  
Sunstreaker stared down at Prowler. It shouldn't be a surprise that Sideswipe would want to spend time with the rest of the crew. He was probably resuming his friendships with them on-duty, laughing and joking and carrying on like they all used to do. They had been there for him in battle the night before, and it was the others who were responsible for watching Sideswipe's backplates now. His brother's world wasn't here in their quarters any longer, not like it had been for the first couple of months, and not like Sunstreaker's now was… permanently. "You really want to go?" Sunstreaker glanced Sideswipe's way.  
"I think it'd be fun. I wanna go with you." Sideswipe shrugged as he smiled lopsidedly. "Yeah?"  
"What's playing?"  
Sideswipe shrugged. "I don't know. I just thought it'd be nice to get out." He chuckled, embarrassed. "I don't think it will suck though."  
At that moment, Prowler dropped his toy and let out a loud wail, a happy cry for attention as he bobbed on his belly. He lifted the Prime plushie and banged it down, bouncing it off his blanket in his tiny fist as he continued his short yells.  
Sideswipe quickly dropped to Prowler's side, rolling onto his backplates as he scooped Prowler up from the blanket and laid him on his chestplates. "Why you making noise, huh?" he teased, grasping at Prowler's hands to play with them. "Sunny and I are going on a date tonight. You get to see Prowl again later." Sideswipe blew raspberries onto Prowler's hands, amidst giggles and drops of drool. "Make sure he doesn't teach you calculus before recharge!"  
Smiling honestly, Sunstreaker relaxed a tiny bit as he watched Sideswipe play with Prowler. His sparkling's happy, cheerful laughs and giggles, the excited kicks and stretches of his legs, and the small shrieks of exuberance that always accompanied their playtime were the new sounds of his world. His brother was an amazing parent, something Sunstreaker had never thought he'd be… but there Sideswipe was, playing his spark out and loving Prowler with everything he had.  
Maybe that was what was important, in this new life of his.

***

"What the frag are they doing here?" Bluestreak's voice, normally cheerful, had dropped low, and he was staring at the Rec Room doors with a frown on his face. Smokescreen twisted around along with Hound and Mirage, and the entire group stared at Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, who had just entered the Rec Room a few minutes before the movie was about to begin.  
"Didn't think they'd show up," Hound said, glancing sideways at Mirage. Mirage nodded, but said nothing.  
"Don't they know they're not invited?" Bluestreak said in exasperation.  
"Blue…" Smokescreen said softly, trailing off.  
"They're not," Bluestreak said, finality in his voice. "No one wants them here."  
From across the room and seated at a table in the back, Ratchet and Wheeljack waved to the twins. Wheeljack called out a cheerful greeting, his audial fins flashing.  
"No one, huh?" Mirage said dryly, his optic ridges arching high. Bluestreak harrumphed, sighing as his doorwings flicked in irritation, and he turned back toward the widescreen monitor with a grumble. Next to him, Smokescreen sighed, his doorwings slumping, and he leaned his shoulder against Bluestreak's.  
***  
Sunstreaker's glower was deadly, and his tanks churned as he stomped his way across the Rec Room to the far wall, Sideswipe at his side. They had just dropped Prowler off at Prowl's, and though Prowler hadn't wailed or seemed to miss them at all, Sunstreaker definitely missed Prowler. It was ridiculous; he spent every moment of the day with Prowler, but here he was, already wondering if Prowler and Prowl were having a good time. Or if Prowler was missing him. Or if he was hungry. Sideswipe had just fed Prowler, but what if he wanted more energon before the two hours were up? Sunstreaker had just arrived for the movie, and already, he wanted to leave.  
Of course, the crew's reaction to their entrance – the silence, the glares, and the complete and total ignorance of them, aside from Ratchet and Wheeljack – wasn't helping much at all.  
"Wanna sit over here?" Sideswipe was pulling two chairs together near the back of the Rec Room. He set them side by side, almost as if it were their own couch. Sunstreaker grunted and threw himself into one of the chairs with a dark glare and crossed arms. He stared ahead, purposely not looking at the crew. He was here because Sideswipe wanted to be, he kept reminding himself. And he'd rather be with Sideswipe than without.  
Sideswipe smiled at Sunstreaker as he sat down, trying to ease some of Sunstreaker's grumbles and anxiety. In truth, his plating was crawling as well, and their less-than-friendly reception had not bolstered his confidence. Still, he was here with Sunstreaker, and that was the point. He crossed his arms and bumped against Sunstreaker's shoulder, grinning sidelong at his brother.  
Sunstreaker merely grumbled, glaring straight ahead.  
Sideswipe was feeling particularly playfully dangerous. A thrill was racing through his lines, and he chewed on his lower lip as he smirked at Sunstreaker. They hadn't been out in public as a true couple ever, and being with Sunstreaker, even hidden in the back, was deliriously exciting to him. He stretched his legs out, mirroring Sunstreaker's body position. Slowly, as sneakily as he could, Sideswipe began sliding his foot across to Sunstreaker's, trying to instigate a game of footsie.  
Sunstreaker ignored him, then grunted, tossing Sideswipe a glare. Sideswipe merely grinned, flicking his foot against Sunstreaker's more noticeably. Sunstreaker frowned back, his glower increasing, which only made Sideswipe bolder. Finally, Sunstreaker responded, snapping his foot back and swiping at Sideswipe's ankle. Sideswipe chuckled, and the game was on. Back and forth they went, Sideswipe trying to be sneaky and Sunstreaker trying to kick him semi-viciously, and almost despite himself, Sunstreaker's dark mood began to fractionally lighten.  
***  
Across the Rec Room, seated on the floor in front of the widescreen, Bluestreak stared over his shoulder at the twins. His lips were twisted upwards in a bitter sneer, anger marring his gaze and darkening his optics. Smokescreen resolutely refused to twist around and stare, and Hound and Mirage traded looks between themselves as they glanced amongst the group and back over to the twins.  
"Look," Bluestreak said, his voice angry. "Sunstreaker can't even be nice to him in public." Bluestreak's chin jutted toward the twins, watching as Sunstreaker shoved at Sideswipe, sending him sprawling sideways almost out of his chair. Sideswipe was grinning, but Sunstreaker was grumbling, and Bluestreak missed entirely the flash of warm humor in Sunstreaker's optics. "I bet he's horrible in private. Bet he just orders Sideswipe around and snaps at him all day long, I mean, he won't ever even smile at him." Bluestreak turned to stare at Smokescreen's profile, a frown contorting his face.  
Smokescreen refused to glance Bluestreak's way or answer his questions. He forced his gaze to remain fixed to the widescreen, watching some of the TV channels playing out while 'Bee and Jazz set up the movie on the main feed.

***

Finally, the lights began to dim and the majority of the crew all settled in around the Rec Room, the happy chatter and loud mumbles quieting down as the first of the previews started. Jazz sat up front on the couch, catching Sideswipe's optics before he did so and throwing both twins a happy wave.  
Sideswipe nodded back to Jazz. He was settled back in his seat after Sunstreaker's playful shove had ended their game of footsie, and as the movie's opening credits began to roll, he turned and gazed at Sunstreaker's profile. Primus, but his brother truly was gorgeous, pout and all.  
Sunstreaker turned toward Sideswipe, feeling his gaze, and as he caught sight of the depth of emotion in Sideswipe's optics, his vents shorted briefly. For a moment, his glower dropped, and only his conflicted, worried visage remained.  
Sideswipe smiled and one hand reached out to rest on Sunstreaker's crossed arms.  
Moving slowly, and grunting as he did so, Sunstreaker unfolded his arms and stretched one out behind Sideswipe, resting it on the back of his chair and carefully encircling his brother in a loose, one-armed hold. Sideswipe's shoulder slid against his plating as they leaned together, holding each other's gaze. The expression of joyous wonder and happy delight that spread out over Sideswipe's face made Sunstreaker's emotional gamble entirely worth it.  
"Aw, c'mon guys! No one wants to see that!" a loud voice called from up front. "Just cause Prowl says it's alright for you two to frag doesn't mean we want to see it!" The darkness hid the identity of the speaker, and only the sound of his voice from the multitude of others rose outward toward the twins.  
Frozen, shocked and pilloried, both brothers stared back. Awkwardly and smarting with shame, Sideswipe began to peel himself away, moving out of the embrace Sunstreaker had initiated all on his own. That oh-so-rarely happened, and now it was ruined, thanks to one of their crewmates.  
Rage boiled instantly in Sunstreaker's lines, screaming through his systems. His optics poured over the crew, but he couldn't differentiate from where the voice had come or who had said it. The voice had been bitten and chocked off, as if the speaker didn't truly want them to know who they were.  
No matter. Sunstreaker wasn't having any of it. He jumped to his feet, his glower full-force, and he stormed out of the Rec Room, bitter anger trailing after his frame.  
Behind him, Sideswipe sat in their chairs, dejected and staring after Sunstreaker's furious backplates. He cast one sad look toward the crew, catching Jazz's shocked faceplates before he ran after Sunstreaker.  
Sunstreaker was storming up the hallway ahead, his fists clenching and unclenching as his engine rumbled in angry fits and jerks. "Sunny!" Sideswipe called out, jogging to catch his brother. "Sunny, wait!"  
Sunstreaker's punched at the lift controls to take him up the few decks back to the officer's quarters. He never should have gone to the movie. He should have just stayed with Prowler and let Sideswipe go and have his own fun. Sideswipe certainly didn't need him around getting him into more trouble. _And frag them all, anyway!_  
"Sunny!" Sideswipe finally caught up with Sunstreaker, reaching out to gently touch his elbow. "I'm sorry," he said, moving around to stand before his brother. "Just ignore them. What they say doesn't matter."  
Sunstreaker grunted, staring at the control panel for the lift and not looking at his brother. He swallowed, trying to dislodge the painful lump that had appeared in his throat. Why, when he got so angry or upset, did it always become so much more difficult to speak? He couldn't say anything in the best of times, and now, it only got so much worse. He shifted, rolling his shoulder as his fists opened and closed once more.  
"Sunny…" Sideswipe's hand traveled down Sunstreaker's forearm before dropping back to his side. He sighed. "I'm sorry." He only wanted for them to have a good evening together. Once again, fragged up was where Sideswipe belonged.  
"You should go back," Sunstreaker grunted as the lift finally arrived. The doors slid open with a cheery beep, and Sunstreaker shouldered his way in, not looking at Sideswipe.  
Sideswipe immediately followed, sliding in right after Sunstreaker. "I don't care about the movie, Sunstreaker. I just wanted to spend time with you."  
Finally, Sunstreaker looked up, meeting his brother's optics. The rage, the hurt over the crews' continued rejection of them still festered deep within, but Sideswipe was here. He'd come after him, instead of staying with the others. Wasn't that what Sunstreaker wanted? He swallowed again, trying to sort out his emotions.  
"Wanna go pick Prowler up early?" Sideswipe punched at the deck controls for the officer's quarters, not meeting Sunstreaker's gaze.  
Sunstreaker stared at the back of his brother's helm. "We have two hours before we're supposed to go back, right?"  
Sideswipe turned to glance over his shoulder at Sunstreaker carefully. "Yeah, we do."  
"Then let's spend time together," Sunstreaker grumbled. His lips were pinched, his optics dark and stormy, and his fists were still clenched at his sides, but Sideswipe couldn't have been happier to hear those words.  
Sideswipe punched the controls for their own deck. "We can watch our own movie," he said, sticking his nose up in the air as his optics twinkled.

***

Prowl had just stacked a perfect tower for Prowler when the soft tapping on his door began. Prowler was on his belly, grin spread wide over his face as he waved his arm through the air, reaching out to send the tower of energon cubes clattering to the decking.  
An unexpectedly-shy looking Jazz hovered on the other side, his fingers poised to gently knock once more.  
"Hello, Jazz," Prowl said happily, his doorwings flicking upward. "I thought you were watching the movie."  
Jazz shrugged, a soft, apologetic grin making its way over his face. "Nah, I decided to head out. The crowd wasn't to my liking." Prowl frowned, but Jazz didn't elaborate. "Looks like you're about to lose your tower there." Right on cue, Prowler's little hand slapped hard enough at the base of the empty energon cube tower, sending the tri-level structure sprawling. The loud commotion rang through Prowl's quarters as the cubes bounced and echoed, and in the silence that followed, Prowler's happy giggles could be clearly heard. His small, mischievous optics stared over at Prowl and Jazz, and he buried his face against the blanket he lay on before glancing back up once more, still giggling amidst drips of drooling lubricant.  
"Did you knock that tower down?" Prowl said playfully, crossing back over to Prowler's side. "I worked hard on that, you know." He pretended to sigh, and Prowler giggled once more. "I'll just have to rebuild it for you." Prowl cast a quick look toward Jazz, smirking. "Again."  
Jazz smirked, his hands on his hips as he watched Prowl settle down to the decking next to Prowler and gather the blocks. Prowler bounced on his belly, wiggling while his legs kicked out behind him, clearly delighting in everything they were doing. Prowl spoke to him, explaining each of his processes as he built Prowler's tower – "First we have to lay a solid foundation, so that my tower can withstand intense sparkling assaults" – and the soft smile and light in Prowl's optics was something Jazz had never before seen.  
The whole scene froze, crystallizing within his processor, and a tiny part of his spark, dark, deeply buried, and long since untouched, began to unthaw. It was strange, and most decidedly alien. It was a part of himself Jazz had long since given up, and feeling the flutters and tingles of the possibility of the emotion once more was suddenly too raw.  
"Want to join us?" Prowl asked, gesturing next to Prowler's blanket with one of the energon cubes. "I don't think you've been able to play with Prowler yet."  
Jazz shook his helm, not trusting his voice for the moment. Coughing, he cleared his throat. "No, I, ah, haven't had the distinguished honor of a playtime visit."  
Prowl threw him a wry sidelong glance. "Have a seat then, Jazz, and see if you're mech enough to handle your new mission. Operation: Playtime."  
Chuckling, Jazz sauntered over and knelt down next to Prowler's blanket, staring at the twins' offspring. Prowler completely ignored him, wrapped up in his new mission to obliterate Prowl's tower.  
"Here," Prowl said, handing over a few energon blocks. "Make your own tower. He'll knock them down all night long." Jazz nodded, accepting the proffered blocks, and set to work making a new tower for Prowler catty-corner to Prowl's. Prowler finally took an interest in what he was doing, and the construction of the new tower seemed to distract him from the fascination and excitement of knocking Prowl's done. He wiggled, twisting until he could stare at Jazz's creation as well.  
"Thief," Prowl muttered, grinning softly. Jazz chuckled, placing the finishing touches on his simple, three level tower with minarets, and then glanced down at Prowler. Prowler's open-mouthed look of wonder made him laugh aloud before he turned to glance at Prowl. Their gazes held, a warm, gentle happiness flowing between, underlain with an indescribable, indefinable, excitable feeling and meaning.

***

Hours later, Sideswipe blearily onlined to the post-movie credits rolling through their final loop and the beeping of his chronometer. His fingers were intertwined with Sunstreaker's as they lay in a cuddled slump against each other on their quarters' couch.  
Behind Sideswipe, Sunstreaker grumbled. "What's going on?" he grunted, his vocalizer staticy.  
"I think we recharged," Sideswipe mumbled, trying to sort through his sleepy circuits. He pushed himself upward, bracing himself against Sunstreaker's chestplates as he shifted. Sunstreaker clung to him for a moment, not wanting him to rise. Sideswipe finally silenced his chronometer, confirming the time. He grinned down at his brother, recharge still clinging to them both and slowing their movements and words. "The secret life of the scandalous, incestuous twins," he whispered, waggling his optics ridges. "They recharged."  
Sunstreaker snorted, lazily smacking at his brother's chest before stretching. His shoulder joints popped just as Sideswipe sneaked in a kiss to Sunstreaker's lipplates. "Let's go get Prowler," he whispered against Sunstreaker's lips. Sunstreaker nodded, his hands falling to Sideswipe's waist. Neither brother moved for a long moment, simply relaxing against one another.  
Finally, Sunstreaker toppled Sideswipe off of himself, sending him sprawling to the ground off the couch with an undignified yelp.

***

Prowler had grown sleepy after Prowl fed him his fortified energon, and he was currently fighting recharge off, and failing, as Prowl gently rocked him in his arms. Prowler's optics surged and faded, then surged and faded once more, and his helm finally twisted to rest against Prowl's chestplates as he fell offline.  
Prowl smiled, staring down at Prowler. He couldn't truly describe the depth of emotion he had for the twins' sparkling. It was a powerful feeling to hold Prowler close and watch over him. He could see bits of the twins' personality peeking through in Prowler's behavior, and every moment spent with the young sparkling always brought a smile to his face.  
Jazz, however, was entirely new to the sparkling-sitting situation. He'd never shown an interest in sparklings before, and despite their joking during their date, Prowl wasn't certain that Jazz ever truly did want sparklings. He seemed slightly more comfortable than Wheeljack, which was only to say that he didn't run in the opposite direction. Prowl was surprised that Jazz had stayed for longer than ten minutes, but there he was, two hours later, sitting next to Prowl and helping to rock Prowler into recharge. He held Prowler's bottle in his hands, staring down at Prowler's sleepy faceplates and smiling.  
"Thank you for staying," Prowl whispered, staring at Jazz's profile.  
Starting, Jazz glanced at Prowl. He smiled shyly. "It was fun. I've... never played with a sparkling before."  
"You did great," Prowl said. "I'm glad you stayed."  
That strange, fluttering, anxiety-producing feeling unfurled within Jazz's spark once more. It was odd, feeling so utterly terrified of a tiny sparkling and an undefined feeling he couldn't dare put a name to, but he couldn't deny the surge of fear that would press through him. He wanted to run, to flee, to never see Prowl again. He wanted to stay forever, letting that soft, warm glow permeate all those places deep within him. He wanted to see what was just around the corner, let himself fall off the edge. He wanted to kiss Prowl, make love to him. But, something bigger and deeper held him back.  
This was no longer a fling, no longer a relationship of convenience. Prowl meant something to him, as inexplicable as it may have seemed all those months ago when Prowl first hesitantly asked him out for a date. He wanted to see where it could go, but he couldn't just let go… not without knowing how he felt. Not without knowing this deep and uncertain feeling.  
Jazz's smile slightly faltered as he inhaled sharply. "I'm… glad I stayed too."  
Prowler shifted in Prowl's arms, his tiny face scrunching up slightly, and Prowl gently rocked him back to calmness. Jazz stared down into Prowler's recharging faceplates, then up into Prowl's optics. Slowly, Prowl began to lean over toward Jazz, a soft smile playing over his lipplates. Jazz's optics drifted down to his imminently kissable lips, and a soft moan fell from his vocalizer.  
The doorchime sounded, chiming and interrupting the mood seconds before Prowl and Jazz's lips met in a soft kiss. Jazz pulled away quickly, looking anywhere but at Prowl as Prowl stood with Prowler and headed for the door. Prowler remained off line, only venting a tiny sigh through his intakes.  
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker waited on the other side of the door, Sideswipe leaning into Sunstreaker with his hand around his brother's waist. Sunstreaker's optics immediately went to Prowler, and the brightness in Sunstreaker's optics that Prowl had come to associate with Prowler lit up. "How is he?" Sunstreaker asked quietly, holding his arms out for his sparkling.  
Prowl passed him over gently, careful not to disturb his recharge. Prowler didn't even twitch, but once in Sunstreaker's arms, he rolled himself into his embrace and smashed his faceplates up against his chestplating.  
"He's fine. Just dropped off, too." Prowl smiled at Sideswipe, hoping they'd had a good time.  
From behind, Jazz stepped up to join Prowl at the door. Sideswipe started, surprised to see Jazz there. "Jazz, what are you doing here? I thought you were at the movie…"  
Jazz shrugged. "After what they said to you, I decided to head out. Wanted to be somewhere more friendly."  
Prowl's helm twisted around with a quick frown. "What happened?" he asked, suddenly concerned.  
Jazz shook his helm, sighing, just as Sideswipe started to explain. Sunstreaker cut everyone off. "It doesn't matter," he grunted, gently rocking Prowler's body and patting his backside. "It's over."  
Prowl's gaze hardened, fixing a displeased gaze first to Sunstreaker, then over to Jazz. He was hoping that things were getting better for the twins, not worse. Jazz shook his helm.  
"We're going to go," Sideswipe whispered, careful not to wake Prowler. "Thanks for watching him." He smiled at Jazz. "Both of you."  
"Glad you got some time together," Jazz said, nodding and leaning up against the doorframe with his shoulder. Prowl smiled and waved as the twins turned and walked away. He turned back to his quarters and palmed shut the doors, leaving him and Jazz all alone together. Silence stretched out, almost uncomfortable.  
Finally, Prowl spoke. "What happened tonight?"  
Jazz shook his helm again. "Someone got mouthy," he said. "They were mindin' their own business in the back, and someone didn't like them holdin' hands."  
Prowl frowned, exhaling in disappointment. "Who?"  
"I dunno," Jazz said, shrugging. "I don't wanna know either. It was dark. It was just a voice."  
Prowl nodded, his processor playing over the list of suspects who were most irritated at the twins. He tilted his helm, staring at Jazz. "They were holding hands?"  
Jazz smirked. "Well, sort of. Cuddlin', in their way."  
Prowl smiled, though it was sad. "Well, that's good, at least."  
Silence filled the cabin once more. Jazz glanced away. They were only scant feet apart, and whereas earlier that day, Jazz could barely keep his hands off of Prowl and the desire to join with him had been nearly unbearable to contain, now those conflicted, terrifying feelings were once again freezing his movements. His gears were in locks, his vocalizer frozen.  
"I know this probably isn't the right time," Jazz finally said, twisting his helm to stare at Prowl, "But are you going to talk to Ironhide before he and Prime leave in a few days?"  
Prowl, expecting something else to come from Jazz's vocalizer, frowned, his doorwings peaking. "I… do not believe so, no," he answered, his voice firm and clipped.  
"Prowl… How long are you going to keep this going?"  
"Me? I am certainly not the one keeping 'this' going," Prowl said, indignation in his voice.  
"You almost struck him," Jazz whispered.  
It was Prowl's turn to look away. "I had cause," he said softly.  
"I'm not arguein' that point, but it wasn't legal, which you well know." Jazz sighed, trying to catch Prowl's optics. He reached out and poked at Prowl's shoulder. "Ironhide was pissed. You would have gotten your aft handed to ya, you know." He quirked a tiny grin toward Prowl.  
Prowl snorted. "You would have backed me up."  
"Oh, really?" Jazz's surprise and humored shock filled Prowl's quarters, and he chuckled at Prowl's declaration.  
"Yes. You wouldn't stand to see me suffer so." Prowl was teasing Jazz now.  
"Is that right?" Jazz grinned, letting his arm slide up the doorframe as he leaned closer toward Prowl, teasingly.  
"Yes," Prowl said, his optics flashing with good humor, and with something else. He reached out, one hand teasing at Jazz's waistplates, almost-but-not-quite tugging on his hipplate. "It is," he said softly.  
Jazz gasped at Prowl's touch, the feeling racing through his sensor net and crashing against his confusion, his conflicted emotions, and the fast pulses of his spark. He wanted to press into the touch, drag Prowl to him, and he wanted to tear himself away, flee from the cabin that moment. He exhaled shakily, and after a moment, twisted his hip away from Prowl's teasing fingertips.  
Prowl stared at Jazz, slight hints of confusion peeking out from his optics. Jazz stepped forward, closing the distance between them and standing intimately close to Prowl, close enough to feel his engine warmth and the heat of his plating. Jazz inhaled deeply, smelling all that was Prowl, and then reached up with his hand to cup at Prowl's faceplates. "I'm going to go," Jazz whispered.  
"Really?" Prowl asked, turning his cheek slightly into Jazz's touch as he gazed up into his face.  
Jazz nodded, his lips pressed together. He stroked over Prowl's face and cheek softly, barely touching the warm dermal plating, and then leaned down for the barest, lightest press of his lips against Prowl's. They lingered together, barely kissing, for almost a minute.  
Finally, Jazz straightened and he pulled himself away with a small, tight smile. Prowl palmed open the door for him, and silently, Jazz backed out into the corridor. There were no words, nothing to be said, not when neither of them understood what was going on any longer.

***

"So…Ratchet, I was thinking…." Wheeljack lowered his pad, letting it fall to his lap while his hands tapped out a nervous rhythm along the pad's edges. Ratchet, next to Wheeljack in their berth and also reading, lowered his data pad and turned a droll look sideways at his lover.  
"That's dangerous, you know," Ratchet said dryly.  
"About Sunstreaker. About what you said earlier." Wheeljack fidgeted, his fingers drumming against the pad's casing before he tapped it against his thighs. Ratchet had told him all about Sunstreaker's visit to the medbay earlier that day, and about Sunstreaker's request to rejoin the active duty contingent.  
"Yes?" Ratchet probed, waiting for his lover. He hadn't seen Wheeljack this nervous since just before Prowler's emergence date.  
"I think that I can watch him for Sunstreaker," Wheeljack finally said, his audial fins flashing and holding in a long, brilliant burst of quick light, then fading away slowly.  
Ratchet's mouth dropped open in shock. "What?" he snapped. "What are you talking about?"  
"I think I can watch Prowler. I'm not on the active duty roster right now, and since I finished the shuttle project, I'm not working on anything full time anymore." Wheeljack paused, setting down the data pad as he turned to face Ratchet. "I'm not going out with the squads. I'm staying in the lab, and if things get intense with the Decepticons again, we might need Sunstreaker. I'm not doing anything deadly, or dangerous, or experimental right now, just maintenance and energon, so…." Wheeljack trailed off. "I think I can do it. I think I can watch Prowler for Sunstreaker."  
There was a long pause. Finally, Ratchet spoke. "Are you out of your processor?" He twisted, staring at Wheeljack as he tossed his own data pad aside. "You don't even like sparklings, Wheeljack. You can barely be around them!" Ratchet sighed. "You didn't even help me with the Human-Autobot Reproductive Conferense just after Prowler emerged."  
"The shuttle project came up!"  
"Oh, yes," Ratchet shook his helm. "The shuttle project just happened to arise, right as you were assigned to help me with a joint species reproductive conference."  
"It did! Prime wanted more mobility for the Autobots. I think he just doesn't want to be reliant on the Air Force for his transportation."  
"Wheeljack," Ratchet began again, tiredly.  
"Look, Ratch, yes, I haven't been comfortable with sparklings in the past. But, I'm trying. I really am. I haven't forgotten your question." Wheeljack's voice trailed off and he looked away, his audial fins dimming. "I'd like to try this, you know? Help Sunny out? Figure out a few things for myself?" Wheeljack turned back to Ratchet.  
Ratchet sighed again. He stared at Wheeljack, his helm tilting to the side. He hadn't forgotten their conversation either, but since witnessing Wheeljack's horrendous nervousness around sparklings, Ratchet had resigned himself to a life without any mechlets of their own. He hadn't thought Wheeljack had been considering it at all. Truthfully, he thought that Wheeljack had been actively avoiding the topic, and the sparkling, in question.  
Swallowing deeply, Ratchet finally nodded, slowly. "If you're sure," he croaked out. "If you're positive. It's not fair to Sunstreaker if you get nervous circuits."  
Wheeljack's fins brightened as he nodded, though it was a more solemn gesture than he was known for. "I am, Ratch. I've been thinking this through, I really have. Everything, I mean. I am trying."  
Ratchet smiled, reaching for Wheeljack's hand. He squeezed it gently. "Thanks," he grunted.  
Wheeljack collected both of their data pads, then turned and deposited them on the berthside table. He turned back around, and his optics had shifted, a teasing glint peeking from within. "Wanna practice?" he chirped, his audial fins flashing happily.  
Smirking, Ratchet clambered to his knees and crawled into Wheeljack's lap. "Practice makes perfect," he whispered.

***

Far above the Western United States, a trine of Seekers set out from a deeply hidden base, throttling toward their target. Only the red glow of their thrusters could be seen against the inky midnight sky.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning found Prowl impatiently waiting for Prime at his office on the Command Deck for their morning meeting.  
Prowl stared out over the mechs as he waited for Prime to arrive. The protoform crew night shift was slowly being relieved by the mechs straggling in for the first shift duties. Prowl stared hard into their faceplates, trying to determine if they had been the ones to speak out against the twins the night before.  
Finally, Prime strode onto the Command Deck, deep in conversation with Ironhide. Prowl stiffened, his expression hardening, and his optics narrowed as he glared at Ironhide. Ironhide had been in the Rec Room the night before. Was he the one who had shouted out at the twins? Ironhide's wrath and his angry, frustrated pain knew no limits, and he lashed out at anything and anyone who brushed close to that pain. There was a twin-shaped hole in his life, and Ironhide laid all the blame for that squarely on their shoulders.  
And on Prowl. Prowl's firm and unyielding support and acceptance of the twins and their relationship had come up between the two mechs. Ironhide's pain had exploded against Prowl's protective streak one morning, to near disastrous results.  
Ironhide noticed Prowl almost as soon as Prowl noticed him. He stiffened, jutting his chin toward Prime's office door. Prowl could hear Ironhide's gruff voice. "Got a visitor, Prime," Ironhide grunted.  
Prime looked up, meeting Prowl's optics. He nodded, then turned to Ironhide. "We'll discuss this later. Finalize our arrangements and then check in with Wheeljack." Ironhide nodded and immediately turned, heading away from Prowl and striding off the deck. Prime continued to Prowl, his optics crinkling along the edges. "You are early this morning, Prowl," Prime said as he input his doorcode. "And I believe I know why."  
Prowl followed Prime into his office. "There was an incident last night," he began. "Jazz and Bumblebee got the crew together for a movie-"  
Prime cut Prowl off as he lowered himself into his desk chair. "And the twins showed up," he finished, his gaze holding Prowl's.  
Prowl's doorwings flickered briefly. "Yes."  
"I heard from Ironhide," Prime said simply as he onlined his terminal.  
"Was he gloating?"  
"No, he was not." Prime's optics rose again.  
"Did he tell you everything?" Prowl pressed. "The whole story? About what was said to them?"  
"Yes, Prowl," Prime said firmly. He turned in his seat, folding his hands across one another on his desktop. "I heard about it all."  
Prowl's doorwings rustled along his backside, flicking upwards briefly again. "Permission to start an investigation, sir."  
Prime stared hard at Prowl. "Denied."  
"Sir!" Prowl's doorwings shot upward as his mouth dropped open, shocked. "You can't let them get away with this!"  
"What I can't do is start criminalizing emotions, Prowl," Prime retorted, his voice firm. "I can't take people's freedom to feel away. I can't allow this ship's officers to be the moral police, turbohounds unleashed to keep the crews' feelings in line."  
"Sir," Prowl breathed angrily, staring at Prime. "That is hardly what is occurring here."  
"You are not an objective party, Prowl," Prime said, pushing himself backward with a sigh. He stood, moving to stand in front of his desk and leaned backward against the surface's edge. "You've become the twin's closest friend, and you're Prowler's designated adoptive parent. Your emotions run just as deeply as the rest of the crews' on this, Prowl, in a different way."  
"That does not excuse the crews' behavior!" Prowl snapped. "None of that gives them a free ride to abuse the twins!"  
"You have always been a logical mech with a cool processor, Prowl," Prime began. "I am asking you to look deeper and to see the greater patterns here." Prime paused, staring at Prowl's angry features.  
"I only want justice," Prowl breathed. "Fairness… No one else would stand for this treatment."  
Prime inhaled deeply, folding his arms across his chest. "And what is fairness, Prowl? What is just, in this situation? The twins have broken the law. They are brothers, yet they live together as a bonded couple, raising their sparkling. Justice, as you well know, would be to punish the lawbreakers."  
Prowl stared at Prime.  
"Fairness, on the other hand, allows us to make the best determination for everybody here. We've already addressed the twins and their relationship. Separating them would be unfair. Taking Prowler, especially after seeing how they both have completely transformed as mechs now that they're parents, would be unfair." Prime paused. "But what's the fair thing to do for the crew, Prowl? Mechs who were hurt? Betrayed? Lied to? Mechs who have to relearn everything about mechs who they thought were best friends, lovers, or perhaps like mechlets to them?"  
Prowl remained silent.  
"We cannot criminalize the crews' emotions. Everyone has to be allowed to feel, to shake this out of their circuits in their own time. If we become the masters of decorum, forcing each and every mech to tow the line and feel only one way, we'll lose this crew faster than anything else."  
"But it's cruel…" Prowl whispered. "Sideswipe and Sunstreaker have to suffer for the crews' pettiness?"  
"It is not ideal," Prime agreed, nodding sadly. "And the best thing they have is your friendship. You, Ratchet, Wheeljack, and Jazz are their support network. We will get through to the other side, Prowl, but what we need is a great deal of patience and thick-plated wiring." Prime paused, tilting his helm as he stared at Prowl. "Let me ask you a question, Prowl. How would you go about investigating this incident?"  
Prowl answered automatically. "Interview the mechs present until I found out who was responsible for the slur against the twins."  
"Do you think there is something significant about the fact that we don't know who actually said what was said? No one clapped him on the back, no one congratulated him for chasing the twins away. There isn't a level of acceptance about this, Prowl. What was said was said in the dark, and no one is willing to claim credit for that."  
"What we need, Prowl, is to band together in this less than ideal situation. To support, in whichever way we can, everyone as we all heal. We cannot criminalize emotions. Mechs have to feel." Prime held Prowl's gaze until Prowl glanced away. Finally, Prowl nodded jerkily, swallowing.  
Prime pushed himself off his desk and briefly squeezed Prowl's shoulder before he turned to sit back in his desk chair. "Now, let's look at the day's events, shall we?"  
Prowl nodded, clearing his throat, and stepped forward to Prime's desk. His doorwings were held high, prim and proper, his optics dark and turbulent. "You and Ironhide leave in just a few days."  
"Yes, and I want to go over the final transference of command authority to you and Jazz. We've done this before, so it won't be new, but another run through will be good."  
"Especially since we have new mechs in new roles this time."  
"Exactly." Prime glanced over his terminal screen, scanning the feeds from Teletraan and their human allies. "Hmm," he mused, frowning. "It looks like there might be some unusual happenings reported in Northern California. Might be the Decepitcons."  
Prowl immediately frowned, leaning forward. "I'll look into that, sir."  
"Any progress made yet on finding the Decepticons?"  
"Jazz is launching the Aerial recon today. We hope to know more this afternoon."  
Prime transferred the information to Prowl's terminal. "See if he can look into these reports as well. This resurgence is deeply unsettling."  
Prowl nodded, inhaling deeply. Prowler's smiling, gurgling face flashed before his optics. "I completely agree, Prime."

***

When Prowl arrived back at his office, Wheeljack, Sunstreaker and Prowler were waiting for him.  
"You've got to be joking!" Prowl said ten minutes later, standing in his office as they finished telling him their plan. "Wheeljack, you don't even like sparklings!"  
Wheeljack shifted next to Sunstreaker. "It's not that I don't like them, Prowl," Wheeljack fumbled. "I just don't have a lot of experience with them."  
"And now you want to watch Prowler during the day? For an entire shift?"  
Wheeljack swallowed, but nodded quickly. Prowl turned to Sunstreaker. "Sunstreaker… This is something you want?"  
Sunstreaker gently bounced Prowler in his arms, rubbing his sparkling's back. Prowler's small legs were barely wrapped around Sunstreaker's sideplating, one of his arms clinging to Sunstreaker and the other balled into a fist that he sucked on as he stared out around Prowl's office. "Yes," Sunstreaker grunted. "I want to go back on duty." His words were simple, but they covered the deeply burning emotions pulling him back toward his brother.  
"Are you sure that you both can do this?" Prowl glanced between Wheeljack and Sunstreaker pointedly. "Hold Prowler, Wheeljack," Prowl said, resting his fingers against his desktop as he peered critically at the two of them. "I want to make sure you can take care of my adoptive sparkling."  
Sunstreaker bounced Prowler carefully, grabbing his sparkling's attention. "Here go you, Prowler," he said softly, extricating Prowler from his hold on his plating. He turned, passing his sparkling carefully across to Wheeljack. Wheeljack accepted Prowler carefully as well, though somewhat awkwardly.  
"There you go," Wheeljack said, staring down at Prowler. His audial fins flashed. He remembered holding Prowler just after he emerged from within Sunstreaker, slippery and screaming and absolutely tiny. His confidence wasn't any different now. "There you go, Prowler." He sounded as if he were placating a dangerous, feral petrowolf. "See?" Wheeljack glanced up at Prowl. "We're great!"  
Prowler's meltdown occurred right on cue. He was staring up at Wheeljack's face, his optics transfixed with the flashing audial fins and Wheeljack's blastmask closed over his mouth. Sunstreaker was only a few feet away, watching over Prowler carefully, but Prowler twisted in Wheeljack's arms toward Sunstreaker as he let out an audial-piercing cry. In under a second, Prowler had devolved into full blown wails.  
Wheeljack's audial fins flashed white-bright as he stared down in shock at Prowler. He froze, holding him timidly with no clue what to do.  
"Here," Sunstreaker muscled his way in, plucking Prowler from Wheeljack's arms. Prowler wailed aloud, his legs kicking gently, and then buried his face and helm in Sunstreaker's neck, clinging to his parent. His tiny fist balled up around Sunstreaker's neck, holding fast.  
Prowl stared at the scene, his optic ridges arched high.  
Wheeljack sighed as Sunstreaker patted Prowler on his backplates, calming him down from his cries. Small whimpers and hiccups were all that emerged, and Prowler's lips mouthed over Sunstreaker's neck, sucking on his plating.  
"Prowl, please… Just let us try?" Wheeljack swallowed again, his pleading gaze boring into Prowl's.  
"Why is this so important to you, Wheeljack?" Prowl frowned.  
Sighing, Wheeljack spoke softly, staring across at Prowler and Sunstreaker. "I want to be better at this. I want to be a better mech around sparklings. I'm trying…" He waved his hand through the air. "I'm trying to figure things out…"  
"We can do this, Prowl," Sunstreaker chimed in. He rested his chin on Prowler's helm, willing his strength to flow into his sparkling. "We can do this."  
Prowl remained silent for a long moment, glancing between the two. Something was going on, something he couldn't put his finger on, something he wasn't totally certain of. Wheeljack's almost desperate desire to help out, Sunstreaker's need to be back on duty… There was something just out of reach of Prowl's understanding, but neither mech was willing to budge. "Alright," he said slowly. "We'll start this out very carefully, taking our time."  
Wheeljack's audial fins flashed happily as he glanced across at Sunstreaker, and almost unbelievably, Sunstreaker's lipplates quirked upwards briefly in a tiny, satisfied smile.  
"Wheeljack, Ironhide needs you to go over the commands and controls of your new shuttle. They're taking one of them when they leave next week."  
Wheeljack nodded. "Those shuttles are built to be easily piloted. I based everything off of the systems we already use every day, so they won't have any trouble picking it up."  
"You and Ironhide are going on some test flights this afternoon to be certain," Prowl admonished. He glanced over to Sunstreaker. The golden twin's optics were burning into his gaze. "And if everything is set, I see no reason why we can't start you out on half shifts tomorrow, Sunstreaker."  
Sunstreaker nodded, and his optics gleamed back toward Prowl. "We can do it," he grunted, rubbing his chin over Prowler's sleepy helm. "You'll see."  
"It'll be great," Wheeljack added, watching Sunstreaker and Prowler's effortless give and take of affection and comfort, love and acceptance. There was something between them, something deeper than a sparkling's needs for fuel and safety, something more than the tired exhaustion of a parent always providing. Wheeljack had no idea what it was he was seeing, but he was certain he was seeing something. Something he had never before seen, ever.

Prowl shooed the exuberant – in his own way – Sunstreaker and the nervously excited Wheeljack out of his office shortly afterward and settled in at his desk. The day had already started out unbalanced, and he shook his helm to try and re-center himself. One niggling portion of his processor kept crying out for attention, demanding that it wasn't just Prime's refusal to let him investigate and prosecute the hecklers of the twins, nor of Prime's subsequent talking to, and not even Sunstreaker and Wheeljack's odd gang-up on him for sparkling-sitting requests. No, his processor screamed. It was Jazz.  
Jazz was noticeable thus far in his absence. On any normal day, any normal shift, Jazz would have already crossed paths with Prowl a half a dozen times. Checking in on the Command Deck, trading jokes with the night shift, walking with Prowl from the Command Deck to their offices, or bumping into each other in the Rec Room for energon. So far, Prowl hadn't seen Jazz once, not during any of their seemingly-routine rendezvous.  
_It means nothing,_ Prowl said to himself. _We don't have walking dates each morning, no set schedule of run-ins. It means nothing._ Still, his processor whined. We're not even a couple! He shouted back to his processor. _We're just… hanging out together. Dating, going on dates. Not a couple. He doesn't do coupling. That's a sure way to get him to run._  
_But what if that little sparkling date last night was too much for him_ , his processor whispered insidiously. _You were certainly blatant about how much you loved being with Prowler. Has Jazz ever shown an interest in sparklings? Ever?_  
_He could have left anytime,_ Prowl answered his inner monologue. _I never asked him to stay._  
_Seemed like a perfect moment, a perfect night, to ask him to stay over. Seemed like great chemistry. And he decided to leave._  
Prowl buried his face in his hands. He was having an argument with himself, and he wasn't entirely certain he was winning. Enough.  
Prowl keyed up his terminal and opened a short comm message to Jazz's office. He attached Prime's data burst about the humans' reports of possible Decepticon sightings and UFO 911 calls over Northern California, typed out a short message wishing him a good afternoon, and quickly hit send. Forcing himself to get back to work, Prowl banished his processor's traitorous whispers and wonderings, putting Jazz entirely out of his mind. Jazz was not his duty, and Jazz was not his daily purpose.  
Still, Prowl's optics wandered back to his terminal, checking to see if Jazz happened to respond to his message every so often.

***

Jazz leaned back dangerously in his desk chair, balanced precariously on the edge of thin, orange metal and the barest hint of physics as he listened in on the Aerial Recon team's chatter while they flew out over the possible coordinates in their grid search of the Decepticons. Unfortunately, his processor seemed desperate to wander, and his thoughts flitted amongst memories and fantasies, all staring one doorwinged SIC.  
"I don't see anything," Slingshot whined. "There isn't a single scrap of metal out here, anywhere. 'Cept us," he added, pouting.  
"I think this place is gorgeous!" Fireflight's chirpy voice chimed in. "Look at all the trees! The scenery is great!"  
"We're not supposed to be looking at the scenery," Air Raid's droll voice interrupted through the static.  
"Yeah, we're supposed to be looking for Decepticons, but they ain't here!" Slingshot said, the sound of his engine surge echoing across the radio transmission.  
Jazz sighed, thunking his chair down to the decking in front of his desk. He keyed into the transmission. "Skyfire, are your sensors picking anything up?"  
"Negative, Jazz," Skyfire's tired voice transmitted back. He had keyed up his sensors with information from Ratchet, scanning deep into the forest and the earth for the unique ores of their protoforms. "I have to agree with Slingshot on this one," he added ruefully.  
"Wonder where they went," Jazz mused aloud over the comm. "They headed up that way, and we don't have any reports of a Decepticon convoy headin' to the populated areas north of where you are." Skyfire and his team of Slingshot, Air Raid and Fireflight were flying over the rural Canadian backwoods, searching for any sort of Decepticon hideout.  
"This isn't really their style," Skyfire agreed. "I've never known them to slink around in the shadows."  
Jazz nodded, frowning. Part of him wondered what Prowl thought about all this. "You're not picking up anything at all?"  
"Nothing," Skyfire replied. "And we've been at this all afternoon. Nothing."  
Jazz nodded, pursing his lips. They had started hours ago, and thus far, not a sign or peep of Decepticons could be found. Jazz glanced across his desk, peering at his terminal. He keyed up the message from Prowl, hours earlier. "Alright then, finish this grid and then we'll shut down in this sector."  
A brief chorus of cheers erupted over the comm lines. Fireflight's small whine was nearly overshouted. "But I like getting out and flying here!"  
Jazz quirked a small smile. "Skyfire, after this run do some upper atmosphere radio spectrum scans. Try and see if you can pick out any unusual comm messages, radio blasts, or bounced carrier waves. Slingshot, Air Raid, Fireflight, you're heading to California."  
"California!"  
"Whoo hoo!"  
Jazz smiled again, chuckling softly. "Hat Creek, just southeast of Mt. Shasta. The radio observatory there picked up some funky signals last night, and the humans around them all reported funny lights and electromagnetic interference. If the Decepticons headed south, that'll be a good place to start looking for them."  
"Got it, Jazz. We'll be done with this grid in about five minutes! California, awesome!" Slingshot's exuberance was infectious, and Jazz couldn't shake his grin.  
"You sure you don't want me to go with them, Jazz?" Skyfire rumbled over the comm lines.  
"The California National Guard is on alert. If they run into trouble, the humans are ready to respond and assist."  
"That's good," Skyfire replied, nodding. His rueful voice chimed in a moment later. "You sure you still don't want me to tag along to California?"  
Jazz laughed aloud. "Let's get those scans, Skyfire, then you can go and police those ruffians."  
"Hey!" Slingshot's insulted tone broke through the chorus of bickering he, Air Raid and Fireflight were all engaged in. "We're not ruffians!"  
"Yes, you are," Skyfire and Jazz replied in unison.  
"At least we're not the youngest anymore!" Fireflight chirped happily.  
Prowler's happy faceplates flashed in Jazz's processor, his cheerful expression as he toppled over his block tower, then his calm, serene, sleepy gaze of contentment as he lay in Prowl's arms, sucking on his bottle of energon and drifting off to recharge. Jazz's spark lurched, torn between terror and bliss, happiness and warm contentment and sheer, crazed, frantic fleeing. Prowl's smile, perfect and tender, sly and inviting, mischievous and desirous, played behind his optics.  
He swallowed, pushing those thoughts out of his helm. He could barely recharge the night before, and he certainly didn't need these thoughts invading his work day. "You're still ruffians," Jazz choked out. "And you always will be."

***

Sunstreaker could barely contain his excitement as he waited for Sideswipe to come off shift.  
Sideswipe finally bounded into their quarters, balancing two cubes in his hands and heading straight for his family. He set the cubes down on the far side of their play blanket as he stared at Sunstreaker. "So, what is it?" he asked excitedly.  
Sunstreaker had been feeling nearly victoriously ecstatic all afternoon, and those feelings had bled along their fledgling twin bond to Sideswipe. They hadn't been working at their twin connection enough, and they couldn't truly share thoughts or feelings as a true bonded couple could. They didn't even know if they ever could, but every once in a while, strong emotions or flickering images passed between their processors.  
"What happened?" Sideswipe collapsed next to Sunstreaker, anticipation and excitement bouncing from his plating. Prowler rolled to his belly and started bouncing, trying to scoot himself forward. He couldn't crawl and couldn't scoot just yet, but he normally bounced until someone picked him up.  
"I'm going back on duty," Sunstreaker said quietly, glancing sidelong at Sideswipe. "Wheeljack came by and offered to watch Prowler if I wanted to go back on shifts."  
"Wheeljack?" Sideswipe frowned, staring at Sunstreaker in shock. "Wheeljack, really? Why did he offer?"  
Sunstreaker shrugged. "Dunno. But he was insistent. Wanted to watch Prowler, if I wanted to go on shift. I said yes, and we both went to Prowl. I start tomorrow," he finished with a small smile.  
"Sunny!" he exclaimed. He beamed, grinning widely. "That's fantastic!"  
Prowler sucked his lower lip into his mouth, bouncing on his belly. His arm stretched forward, reaching for Sideswipe as a tiny spittle of drooling lubricants leaked from his mouth.  
"I start at midshift. Prowl put me at comms for four hours."  
"You'll be on the Command Deck." Sideswipe's smile grew larger. "We'll be together."  
Sunstreaker nodded. "Yeah, we will." He held Sideswipe's gaze. "When everything goes well, I'll be allowed to go back on full duties. We can really be together again."  
"We're always together," Sideswipe teased, reaching out to grip at Sunstreaker's hand. "We're never going to be apart."  
"Out there, though," Sunstreaker grunted. "I want to be with you in battle," he grunted.  
Prowler chose that moment to shout his displeasure, vocalizing a long, loud chirp, a cry for attention. He was bouncing himself silly on his belly, trying to scooch himself closer to Sideswipe. That normally got his parent's attentions, and one of them would immediately scoop him right up. He called out again, a tuneless, wordless shout as he banged his hand against his blanket.  
"Oh, Bug!" Sideswipe gasped, playing along. "Are we ignoring lil' you?" He swooped down, planting his hands on either side of Prowler's body as he rubbed his face against Prowler's grey helm. "Are you feeling left out?"  
Sunstreaker sat back, relaxing as Sideswipe took over. Prowler shrieked, a happy wail tumbling from his vocalizer as Sideswipe's special playtime started up in full force. Sideswipe scooped Prowler up from the blanket, holding him high above his helm as he made zooming and swerving noises and swung Prowler around carefully. It was their routine, the give and take all revolving around Prowler. Each day was the same, comfortably familiar and yet uniquely happy.  
All the while, Sideswipe kept up a monologue for Prowler. "Guess what, Bug? Your world is going to change a bit tomorrow! You get to go play with Wheeljack! No messing around in his lab, though! We don't want charred and crispy Prowler!" Sideswipe tossed Sunstreaker a grin as he playfully dropped Prowler from high up, only to play-catch him just in the nick of time. Prowler squealed, his legs kicking out excitedly. "Sunny's going to be with me tomorrow! I get him back! But don't worry; he'll be back with you too." Sideswipe pulled Prowler close, nuzzling his helm as he pressed a gentle kiss to his small temple. Sideswipe grinned, and then they were off again, playing and shrieking in excitement.

***

"Jazz, my man, what is up?" Blaster called out, plopping into the seat across from Jazz in the Rec Room.  
Jazz, wandering in the foggy depths of his angst-ridden and chastising self-conscious, physically snapped himself out of his reverie. "Whoa! Blaster! Didn't see you coming, man!"  
"I haven't seen you in here in ages!" Blaster continued. "Well," he amended quickly. "I haven't seen you in here alone in ages." He wagged his optic ridges suggestively as he leaned closer to Jazz across the table.  
Chuckling in embarrassment, Jazz glanced down at the tabletop. "Yeah, been a bit busy recently…."  
"So that's what you call it these days..." Blaster leaned back, relaxing in his chair with his arms flopped backward over the seatback and his legs spread akimbo.  
Jazz shook his helm, refusing to bite.  
"How is Prowl doing?" Blaster pressed.  
"He's fine. Doing well." Jazz nodded, but wouldn't look up at Blaster. When had evading something become difficult for him?  
Blaster was slowly figuring out something was wrong. "Is it… over?" He leaned forward, frowning, suddenly worried he was treading on dangerous territory. "Did you guys call it quits?"  
"No!" Jazz glanced up, grinning in what he hoped was his customary, relaxed grin. He waved his hand dismissively. "There's nothing to call off."  
Now Blaster really frowned. "Aren't you guys dating? I mean, everyone's seen you guys hanging out and driving off into the sunset together. Aren't you playing around with his wiring?"  
"I am not messing around in his wiring," Jazz snapped, pointing a finger across the table at Blaster. "There hasn't been any cross wiring going on!"  
"Whoa!" Blaster threw up his hands in defense. "So kill a mech for getting the wrong idea! But you guys have been hanging out every day, chatting up a storm, driving here and there together. It sure looks like ya'll were dating."  
"Well…" Jazz swallowed, sighing. "We are."  
"Huh?" Blaster's face contorted into a deep, confused frown. "I thought you just said you weren't 'facing!"  
"We're not 'facing… but we are… dating." Jazz's voice trailed off, and his fingers plucked over the table surface, playing with one of the seams.  
"Wait, wait, wait," Blaster called out, holding his hands up in shock. "You mean to tell me that you, Jazz, have been dating a mech for what, five months now, and you're not facing him?" Blaster stared at Jazz, holding his gaze in the silence. "Who are you and where is the Jazz I know?"  
Smiling thinly, Jazz glanced back down at the table seam. He ran his thumb around the crease, over and over. "I dunno, Blaster, I don't even know if this is me or not some days."  
"You must really like him," Blaster said softly. "I have never seen you this tripped out over any mech."  
Slowly, Jazz looked up, meeting Blaster's concerned gaze. "Sometimes…. I think I do," he choked out, his voice faint. "Other times… I think I'm losing my mind. This is Prowl." Sighing, Jazz threw himself back in his chair, spreading his arms wide. "I didn't even know the mech five months ago. And now I do. And he's…." Jazz trailed off, his processor spinning with memories.  
And Prowl was pretty damn incredible. All their dates, all their conversations, all the time they had spent together. Every moment had been filled with contentment, with happiness, with discovery and excitement and pleasure. The small part of Jazz, the part that had firmly decided that there was no one, no mech for him, not anywhere, had slowly unpacked itself from his spark and stared in curious wonder at what was occurring. Prowl wasn't just seeing Jazz, the cool cat commander, or Jazz, the warrior, or Jazz, the crews' best friend, or even, Jazz, the sometimes prankster. He was seeing Jazz – the thoughts, feelings and emotions that had carried Jazz through the war, seated itself around his spark, and fed into who he had become.  
Prowl listened, with the patience of a mech Jazz had never known, to all of Jazz's memories, all of his stories, all of their shared talks about the war, their battles, and the crew. It was the first time in Jazz couldn't remember how long that someone just wanted to listen, to know him in his own way, instead of already knowing him based on one of his many, many different personas.  
It was refreshing, liberating, spark-quenching…and terrifying.  
"Ark to Jazz!" Blaster's voice finally penetrated Jazz's fog. Jazz started, staring at Blaster with a too-bright visor. "Man, you are one messed up mech," Blaster pronounced, shaking his helm.  
Smiling ruefully, Jazz held his stare. "Don't I know it," he quipped.  
Blaster stared back for a short moment before abruptly changing the topic. He leaned forward, bracing his arms on the table top as he pushed almost conspiratorially close. "So, you're spending time with Prowl, and Prowl spends a bunch of time with the twins. Have you seen their sparkling?"  
Jazz nodded. "I have," he said quietly. "I played with him last night, in fact."  
Blaster grinned, excited curiosity falling from his optics. "What's he like?" he whispered. His optics darted around the Rec Room. "How are the twins?" he asked, even softer.  
"They're doing alright." Jazz nodded, still smiling. "Prowler is adorable. Totally happy, totally healthy. Looks just like Sideswipe."  
Blaster smiled, chuckling as he glanced down and shook his helm. Tapping the tabletop twice, he leaned back, relaxing into his chair. "Man, I cannot believe they had a sparkling," he said slowly. "But it is kinda cool…" he nodded as he spoke, grinning. "The future… Like, it's here! Like the war might really be over." His voice played over the words, his excitement bleeding into his tone. Jazz nodded again.  
"I can barely remember being a young mechlet," Blaster continued, musing aloud. "Can you remember anything?" Jazz shook his helm, relaxing again. "I do remember the songs my parent's used to sing… stories…" Blaster's expression turned distant as he remembered the far away memories of his past. "There was this one… about circuits…"  
Blaster started drumming out a small rhythm against the tabletop, a soft ballad type tune that he began humming along too. "Do you remember it? Something like… 'Circuits come, circuits go…'"  
"But our love will always flow!" Jazz chimed in, the second line popping into his helm, a long lost memory.  
"That's it!" Blaster cried. Together, they sang the verse. "Circuits come, circuits go, but our love will always flow…" Laughing, Blaster pulled out a data pad. "Man, we gotta' get the rest!"  
"What is all this mess?" Smokescreen, unseen by either mech, stopped next to Blaster's chair, staring down at the table with arched optic ridges.  
"Oh! Hey, Smokey!" Blaster said, twisting awkwardly in his chair. He tossed a quick glance across to Jazz. "Jazz and I were just talking. You ready for a game?"  
"Always ready for a game," Smokescreen replied, smiling as he slid into the empty seat. "Sounded like you two were singing sparkling rhymes."  
"Yeah…" Blaster trailed off, glancing at Jazz for help. No one knew how to talk about the twins, or about Prowler, in front of Smokescreen, and only Bluestreak ever tried. Of course, Bluestreak was one of the angriest of the crew, and what he said could be guaranteed to be bitter vitriol. Most mechs assumed that Smokescreen took shelter in Bluestreak, and avoided the topic entirely. "We were trying to remember one of the rhymes from when we were little."  
"About the circuits? Electrons traveling everywhere but always finding one another?" Smokescreen shuffled their cards, his hands flying over the deck as he glanced from Blaster to Jazz.  
Blaster nodded carefully. "Yeah, that's the one."  
"You know, we don't really have any sort of database of our sparkling information," Smokescreen said, frowning. "Teletraan never came equipped with the Children's Library of Iacon. Now that Cybertron is gone, we're all that's left. All we have of our culture is in our memories."  
Jazz and Blaster frowned, staring across at each other. "I… hadn't thought of that," Blaster admitted, chewing his lip.  
"It'd be a shame to lose all that," Smokescreen grunted, glaring down at the cards. He began to deal them out, tossing each one more forcefully than needed at both Jazz and Blaster. "You know, if we had to pass along our culture to… sparklings." Jazz and Blaster shared a heavy look. "Someone should try to gather up all that information," Smokescreen said tightly, straightening out the rest of the deck almost obsessively and not looking anywhere by the tabletop.  
"That's a real good idea, Smokescreen," Jazz said softly, gathering up his hand.  
Smokescreen shrugged, his doorwings rippling along his backside. The effect seemed to shake him from his emotional slide, and he turned a thin smile toward Jazz. "Just an idea," he said dismissively.  
Blaster chose that moment to change the subject. "So, Smokey, know those bets we've got going on Jazz and Prowl? Every single one of them is wrong!"  
Jazz groaned aloud, cursing as he slumped back in his chair and tossed his cards to the table surface. Smokescreen stared at Blaster in shock.  
"Jazz isn't messing with his wiring!" Blaster pointed an accusing finger across at Jazz.  
"Why you got to start this, man?" Jazz said, his arms spread wide.  
"Really?" Smokescreen turned an incredulous stare toward Jazz.  
Hound and Mirage sidled up alongside Smokescreen. "Oh! Deal us in! And who isn't messing around in whose wiring?"  
Jazz groaned, throwing his helm backward over the edge of the chair as Blaster chuckled heartily.

***

The next morning, Sideswipe left for his shift early, dropping an excited kiss to Sunstreaker's lips and a promise to see him on the Command Deck in only a few hours. Sunstreaker's optics blazed as he bid him goodbye, and the next few hours were spent getting Prowler ready for his big day with Wheeljack. Sideswipe had already bathed him the night before, so all Sunstreaker had to do was collect his toys, his play blanket, gather his bottles and pre-rationed energon and additives, his spare warming blankets for his recharge naps, feed Prowler twice, and then quickly wipe him down once more, cleaning off the drooling lubricants and dribbled energon from his chin. Sunstreaker was dashing out their door with his ammo gear bag slung over his shoulder, stuffed to the brim with Prowler's few possessions, blankets, and bottles as he held Prowler close to him, trying to comfort his sparkling.  
Prowler knew something was up; something was different, and he clung to Sunstreaker's arms as he stared wide optic'd around them both, watching with nervous interest as Sunstreaker took them both down to Wheeljack's lab.  
All the way, Sunstreaker continued to comfort Prowler, rubbing him up and down his backplates soothingly. Still, it was Sunstreaker's spark that seemed suddenly turbulent, and the comfort he gave to Prowler seemed to be an attempt to balm his own trepidation. When they finally arrived, Sunstreaker pressed a quick kiss to Prowler's temple before palming Wheeljack's lab door open.

***

Wheeljack was waiting inside, nervously wringing his hands together as he inspected the last of his preparations. Flight tests with Ironhide the day before had gone simply and easily, leaving Wheeljack with hours to prepare for his new duties as designated sparkling sitter. Ratchet, though nervously worried about his lover's ability to overcome his fear and tension regarding sparklings, helped Wheeljack prep his lab the best they could. In the end, all the dangerous items had been lifted high onto the shelves or pushed far to the back, and a space had been cleared for a simple crib and playpen. Ratchet lined their play crib with blankets from the medbay, and Prowler's area was set up right near Wheeljack's desk.  
_What in the slagging depths of the Pit am I doing?_ Wheeljack asked himself nervously. _What the slag was firing in my processor?_ However, as Sunstreaker finally slid into his lab with the curious-looking Prowler, Wheeljack forced his nerves away.  
"Morning, Sunny!" Wheeljack called out, waving the two over. "How's Prowler?"  
"He's doing alright," Sunstreaker said, glancing down at his sparkling. Prowler was gripping onto his arm as he stared around Wheeljack's lab, one of his fists balled up as he sucked on a clenched finger. "I think he knows something is up."  
"I'm sure he's going to miss you," Wheeljack nodded. "But we're going to have a day of fun!" His audial fins flashed brightly, faking his confidence.  
Sunstreaker nodded before pressing his forehelm against Prowler's. "He'll be fine," he said quietly.  
Wheeljack nodded again, then started, remembering his new duties. "Here, I'll take him. You need to head to the Command Deck anyway. It's almost time for your shift." Wheeljack's audial fins flashed.  
Sunstreaker nodded, but didn't hand Prowler over right away. "What's that?" he asked, jerking his helm toward the play crib.  
Wheeljack moved to the crib, rubbing his hand around the top railing, just above his waist. Bars stretched up and down, from the base platform with all of Ratchet's medical blankets to the solid railing far above Prowler's helm. He would be safely closed within, unable to escape. "This is his play pen," Wheeljack said, a small amount of pride leaking into his voice. He'd worked hard on his creation, modeling it after the human's cribs. "He can stay in here and play, and he'll be totally safe."  
Sunstreaker nodded slowly, a small frown creasing his expression. His optics moved over the play crib warily, checking out the confines and the bars. Prowler had no such thing in their quarters. Prowler himself seemed to stare downward with wide optics, unsure of the cage hovering below him.  
"I'll be back in four hours," Sunstreaker finally grunted. "Right at the end of my shift." Carefully, he shifted Prowler in his arms, and as he passed his sparkling across to Wheeljack, Sunstreaker's gaze fixed to Prowler's. Prowler's fist, half inside his mouth, suddenly waved back toward Sunstreaker, reaching for his parent.  
"Here're all his toys," Sunstreaker grunted again, setting down their ammo bag next to Wheeljack's crib.  
Wheeljack tried to gently bounce Prowler in his arms, just like the way he'd seen Sunstreaker, Sideswipe and even Ratchet effortlessly do. Prowler's helm bobbed a bit, and he leaned forward, clinging to Wheeljack unsteadily. "We'll be waiting for you!" Wheeljack chirped brightly.  
Sunstreaker nodded, his mouth pressed into a thin line. His optics were fixed to Prowler.  
"You've got to go, Sunny," Wheeljack said softly. "We'll be fine. I promise." He swallowed, hoping it was true.  
Swallowing deeply, Sunstreaker broke his fixed gaze on Prowler and strode out of Wheeljack's lab. His footfalls were heavy and clipped, quick steps taking him away without a look back. Sunstreaker only had minutes to get up to the Command Deck  
Prowler watched Sunstreaker walk away and leave Wheeljack's lab, leaving him all alone in the arms of a stranger. His hand waved, reaching and grasping after Sunstreaker.  
Wheeljack stared down at Prowler nervously, suddenly deeply uncertain of this venture. Prowler stared back at Wheeljack, his optics wandering over the blastmask, the audial fins, and Wheeljack's wide, scared optics. They were so different, so alien, so unlike the features of his parents, the comforting, familiar and loving faces that had surrounded him forever. Everything was wrong, everything – the arms holding him, the face looking down at him, the loss of Sunstreaker's energy field, the completely alien place he was in.  
Prowler's expression crumbled, melting in a pique of panic and angst, and a long, wailing cry erupted from deep within. Heavy sobs ripped from his vocalizer as his optics brightened with white scratchy lines of emotion. His body stiffened, trying to push away from Wheeljack's arms and his hold.  
"Oh slag…" Wheeljack whispered.

***

By the time Sunstreaker arrived on the Command Deck, a deep frown had already fixed itself over his stormy expression. Prowler's wails, his agony and misery, were erupting over their sparkbond, and Sunstreaker could feel every one of Prowler's cries and desperate, unspoken pleas for him to return. They tore into his spark, shredding his insides, and when he finally stormed onto the Command Deck, his excitement for returning to duty had waned.  
Sideswipe, also feeling Prowler's agony, met Sunstreaker's optics with a pained expression. Sideswipe was working near the main Teletraan terminal and waiting for Sunstreaker's arrival. Prowler's misery seeped into his being, turning his tanks and burning at his spark. Sunstreaker met Sideswipe's gaze with stormy, indigo-black optics before stomping over to the comms terminal for his half shift.  
Prowl was waiting for him, and he welcomed Sunstreaker back to the Command Deck with a small smile. Sunstreaker couldn't respond, instead just jerking his helm in a tight nod as he forced himself to swallow his emotions and sit at the controls. Sideswipe watched nervously, sighing, and finally made his way over to Sunstreaker. He could feel every single mechs' optics fixed to him and Sunstreaker.  
"Hey Sunny," Sideswipe whispered, leaning down next to his brother. "Welcome back." Sunstreaker merely grunted, punching at the frequency controls with far too much force. Sideswipe swallowed, feeling another curl of Prowler's depression lance through them both. "He'll be alright," Sideswipe whispered. "It's just the first few minutes. He'll calm down in little bit…" Sideswipe hoped it was true.  
Sunstreaker grunted, but he wouldn't meet Sideswipe's gaze. Sighing again, Sideswipe straightened up, and he brushed his hand over Sunstreaker's shoulder, the only physical contact with his brother he dared in front of the crew. Sunstreaker shifted under his touch, bumping his shoulder upward. Whether it was to dislodge his touch or deepen it, Sideswipe didn't know. He frowned and moved back to the Teletraan terminal.  
Sideswipe spent the next hour watching Sunstreaker, seeing his expression turn from irritated to depressed to pained to agonized. Both their sparks were burning with the pain of Prowler's separation, and it wasn't getting any better.

***

Wheeljack crouched down next to Prowler's crib, a panicked, terrified expression stretched over his faceplates. "Oh slag," he whispered. "Slag, slag, slag…"  
Prowler was wailing, and in fact, had never stopped. He was nearly hoarse now after a full hour of screaming and his pained, keening wails. His optics were blindingly white, full of desperate emotion, his plating hot to the touch as his internals heated up dramatically.  
Nothing was helping. Wheeljack had upended Sunstreaker's ammo bag, pulling out all of Prowler's toys, but he had no interest in the energon blocks, and even his Prime plushie, so well-loved at home, did nothing to allay his sadness. Wheeljack tried to dance and wave the plushie outside the bars of Prowler's crib, trying to entice him to curiosity and play, or distract him from his sobs, but Prowler persisted in his misery. He sat in the center of the crib, wailing his spark out, feeling completely alone, completely isolated, and completely cutoff.  
He was in abject, total, misery.  
"C'mon, Prowler… It's not so bad!" Wheeljack pleaded with Sunstreaker's sparkling, sitting on the deck next to the crib. He pressed his forehelm against the bars, trying to will Prowler to calm down. "We can have fun! I promise your parents are going to be back soon, I promise…"  
_Not soon enough,_ his processor whispered. Wheeljack grabbed at Prowler's Prime plushie, waving it outside the crib once more. "Prowler….C'mon, Prowler…."

***

 _One hour, six minutes, twenty eight, twenty nine, thirty, thirty one…_ Sunstreaker counted the seconds he had been on shift, only minimally listening to the comm traffic feeds. His processor was buried in his spark, trying to both block and sooth Prowler, trying to distance himself and run to his sparkling. He swallowed, trying to force his attentions back to the Command Deck. This was where he wanted to be; right here, on duty, side by side with Sideswipe. This was where he needed to be, to be valuable, to be useful, to be a part of the crew again.  
_Forty, forty one, forty two…_ Sunstreaker kept up the count, shifting in his seat.  
A particularly wrenching cry from Prowler, a wail so keen and pitiful it topped all the rest, finally broke Sunstreaker at one hour, seven minutes, and sixteen seconds. He shuddered in a painful breath, his faceplates twisting in their own agony, and pushed himself back from his terminal. Ripping out the connection wires and throwing them to the console in a pique of dramatic rage, Sunstreaker kicked out at the chair he'd been languishing in for the past hour and seven minutes before he stormed off the Command Deck, his rage and embarrassment leading the way.  
The rest of the Command Deck watched in frozen shock, entirely blind to the dramatics playing out between the family's sparks. Sideswipe, speaking softly with Prowl and Trailbreaker, had hissed, pressing his hand to his chest and his spark at Prowler's terrible wail, and as he watched Sunstreaker storm out, Sideswipe could only stare with terrible defeat and dejection. Their excitement from yesterday seemed so thin, so fragile, and Sideswipe's spark echoed with resounding disappointment for Sunstreaker.  
This wasn't what his brother wanted at all.

***

"Please, Prowler!" Wheeljack was getting near desperate, his optics also streaked with white lines of harsh emotion and panic as Prowler continued to wail and cry. "Please!" He clutched at Prowler's crib bars, trying to negotiate a cease fire with Prowler. "We don't need to cry! We don't! They're coming back, I promise!"  
Wheeljack didn't know if he was relieved or bitterly disappointed when the doors to his lab slid open. Sunstreaker stormed in, racing over to the crib as Wheeljack scampered to his feet. In one swoop, Sunstreaker plucked Prowler from within and brought him to his chest, cradling his sparkling close.  
For a moment, Prowler's wails seemed to increase, as if recognizing his parent and shouting back at him, "How could you leave me? Why did you do this to me?" Sunstreaker stroked down his backplates, rocked him gently and nuzzling his helm against Prowler's, all the while his same dark, stormy expression closed off all his deeper emotions.  
Finally, as Wheeljack stood inept and silently scolded off to one side, Prowler slowly calmed, his wails turning to whimpers, his sobs to hiccups and trembles. Sunstreaker never let him go, and Prowler's arms clung to Sunstreaker's plating, gripping tightly to his parent. Sunstreaker walked back to the crib and began gathering up Prowler's supplies one-handed. Wheeljack finally moved, handing over the Prime plushie as he helped shove Prowler's blankets and energon blocks into Sunstreaker's ammo bag.  
"I'm sorry," Wheeljack choked out, his audial fins barely flashing. "I'm so sorry, Sunstreaker…" he tried to say. His failure weighed heavy on his spark, pressing down on him. He truly wasn't any good, anywhere, with sparklings.  
Sunstreaker said nothing to Wheeljack, merely grabbed his ammo bag and hefted it over his shoulder before shifting Prowler into a closer snuggle against his chest. At the movement, Prowler whimpered once more, clinging tight to Sunstreaker and fearing he was being separated again. His fist grabbed at Sunstreaker's neck, clinging with all his tiny sparkling strength to the best thing he knew in his life.  
Sunstreaker left Wheeljack's lab without a word, leaving Wheeljack behind in a cloud of deep, unyielding failure. Silence, and the play crib, loomed all around him.

***

"What happened?" Prowl asked softly, moving behind Sideswipe. Trailbreaker had straightened the chair Sunstreaker had kicked over silently, and he cast a meaningful look Sideswipe and Prowl's way.  
"Prowler wasn't doing too well," Sideswipe whispered, looking down, ashamed. "He was crying…" Sideswipe looked up, exhaling loudly. "It hurt, over our sparks… Sunny couldn't take it." His optics brightened with pain as he glanced across at Prowl.  
Prowl nodded slowly. "I was afraid of something like this."

***

Sunstreaker paced his quarters, rocking Prowler gently. Prowler wailed any time he tried to put him down, and even though he was in recharge, he was only dozing in the lightest way. Any attempt by Sunstreaker to set him down was met with cries, Prowler's clenching onto his plating, and a rush of panic in Prowler's spark that he was leaving him. Sunstreaker pressed his cheek against Prowler's helm, trying to reassure his sparkling that he was there, that he wasn't going anywhere. Prowler sighed, slightly mournfully, and clenched at his plating again.  
Sunstreaker felt terrible. Awful. Absolutely, spark-breakingly atrocious. He was the worst sort of mech. He was worse than useless; he was worthless now.  
Not only had Sunstreaker devastated Prowler, convinced his sparkling that he had gone, left, never to return, Sunstreaker had utterly let down his brother. He'd failed Sideswipe entirely, failed him forever. This was Sunstreaker's chance to work back to duty, to prove himself useful again. He was supposed to be back at Sideswipe's side, sharing everything, a part of each other's life in every which way all over again, as if nothing had happened. That was his duty, his responsibility, his charge as both brother and lover. He was supposed to be there for Sideswipe. Forever. Things had changed though, in a big way. Things named Prowler. Prowler had arrived, their accidental creation. Prowler was perfection, the best of themselves made whole, and their accidental, unasked for blessing. Sunstreaker wanted to be the best mech he could be for both of them, for both Prowler and Sideswipe, the mechs of his life.  
And he couldn't. He couldn't do anything right, nothing. He'd failed Prowler. He'd failed Sideswipe. He had dumped Prowler in misery, fleeing to be with Sideswipe, and then fled Sideswipe after only an hour. He'd had to choose between the two, the two mechs who meant the absolute most to Sunstreaker. How could he choose?  
And how could Sideswipe forgive him? Sunstreaker could no more listen to Prowler's agony than he could ignore the rage and misery in his spark every time Sideswipe left the Ark without him, or the raw feelings of uselessness stoked each day Sideswipe spent on duty. Sunstreaker had just chosen Prowler over Sideswipe, and one day, that choice might mean Sideswipe's life, if Sunstreaker wasn't there.  
He couldn't even get through a half shift, couldn't be strong enough for his brother for half a shift. What a worthless, useless mech he was. Worthless lover, partner and brother. Useless to the Ark, to the Autobots. Horrible to Prowler.  
Sunstreaker stroked over Prowler' backplates, murmuring softly as he swayed back and forth. He had so much to make up for, and so little he could do.

***

Wheeljack slumped back, dejected, at his chair in his lab. Prowler's empty play pen sat by his side, the blankets still rumpled and fisted from Prowler's clenching wails. Wheeljack's gaze drifted from his empty workbench to Prowler's empty play pen. He was so useless. So inept. So utterly incompetent when it came to sparklings. How could he ever be a parent? He couldn't even entertain the notion.  
The day had grown long, the shift already finished by over an hour when Wheeljack's lab doors slid open softly. Feet, familiar in their cadence, padded across the decking and stopped behind Wheeljack.  
"Hey," Ratchet said softly.  
Wheeljack smiled sadly, his audial fins lighting up in a soft shade of grey, but he didn't say anything, nor did he turn around to face his lover.  
"I heard about today," Ratchet pressed forward. "I heard about Prowler's meltdown."  
"I couldn't do it, Ratch'," Wheeljack answered softly. "I couldn't take care of him. Couldn't calm him down." He tossed the screwdriver he had been fiddling with onto the workbench, where it clattered nosily as it spun. "I ruined Sunstreaker's day, made him leave the Command Deck…"  
Ratchet sighed and stepped forward, turning to lean against the workbench and gaze down at his lover. "'Jack, it's not your fault-"  
"No, Ratch, it is," Wheeljack snapped, not looking up at his partner. He sighed, long and loud. "I couldn't take care of him like I said I would. I couldn't comfort him, I couldn't keep him safe. I couldn't do anything." Wheeljack's helm tipped backwards as he cycled his optics. "I'm useless as a parent. Why would you ever want to have a sparkling with me? I'd just frag it all up."  
Ratchet stared at Wheeljack, his mouth dropped open in surprise. Wheeljack pressed on, shaking his helm in disgust. "It won't ever happen, Ratchet. I can't be a parent." He stared down at his workbench, not meeting Ratchet's gaze.  
Silence reigned supreme. Ratchet inhaled deeply, his arms folded across his chest as he stared out over Wheeljack's lab. The tension seemed to expand, doubling and tripling every moment. Finally, Ratchet pushed himself up with a heavy sigh, and without looking at Wheeljack, slowly made his way out of the lab.  
Wheeljack exhaled again, his shoulders slumping in disgust. Now he just felt even worse.

***

Sideswipe returned to their quarters after his shift with trepidation. He palmed open their quarters doors and stepped inside, and immediately he caught sight of Sunstreaker, pacing the length of their quarters in slow strides while he held Prowler close. At the sound of the door sliding open, Sunstreaker turned, and he cast exhausted, pained optics Sideswipe's way. White lines of sorrow crisscrossed his expression, clouding his optics from their piercing indigo.  
"Sunny…" Sideswipe whispered, fidgeting at the doorway. He licked his lips nervously. He was never any good at reading his brother's emotions or moods. He always, always seemed to say or do the wrong thing. Sideswipe swallowed and refocused his attention down to Prowler, still clinging to Sunstreaker like a castaway adrift in space. Sideswipe sighed softly and crossed immediately to their side.  
"Oh, Prowler," Sideswipe whispered again, gently stroking down their sparkling's backplates. Prowler shifted minutely, turning his helm to gaze at Sideswipe with mournful optics full of fear. "It wasn't that terrible," Sideswipe whispered, half pleading.  
Prowler's only response was a soft whimper and another nuzzle against Sunstreaker's plating. Sunstreaker rubbed his chin over Prowler's helm for the innumerable time that afternoon before pressing his lips against Prowler's helm. Sideswipe swallowed deeply, then reached for Prowler. Gently, as if afraid their sparkling would break, Sunstreaker slowly peeled Prowler from his plating and transferred him to Sideswipe's arms. Through it all, Prowler's optics grew huge, and he watched both Sideswipe and Sunstreaker carefully, as if to make certain he wasn't being taken anywhere strange and unusual.  
Sideswipe cradled Prowler close, struck by how morose he seemed. This wasn't the giggling, full-of-energy-and-happiness sparkling he came home to every day. Prowler was, for the first time he'd ever seen, truly sad and fearful. It wasn't supposed to be this way at all. "Prowler…." Sideswipe whispered again. He pressed a lingering kiss to Prowler's helm as Prowler gave another soft whimper.

***

Prowl was working late in his office when his doorchime faintly buzzed. He sighed, raising his tired helm to the closed doors before calling out for his visitor to enter. After the day he had had, Prowl wasn't entirely certain who was on the other side, or if he even wanted to entertain their visit.  
Jazz stepped through, a small smile spread over his lips. "Sounds like you've had a long day," Jazz said apologetically.  
In an instant, Prowl's entire demeanor shifted. He hadn't seen Jazz in almost two whole days, not the entirety of the day before, and not so far that day either. A part of his processor was devoted to worrying over that, and the rest of his processor was devoted to shutting that part down. "Jazz," he said warmly, standing. "I'm glad to see you again."  
Jazz smiled again, ducking his helm. "Sorry… I've been busy," he finished lamely. He didn't think Prowl would buy that excuse.  
Prowl, frankly, didn't care, and he knew better than to press. "Not a problem," he said. "I'm just pleased to see you now."  
Finally, Jazz smiled wide. Just when his nerves wound him up tight, scaring him with their fear, Prowl went and said the simplest thing that reminded him of why he was falling so hard for the Ark's SIC. "I came to see if you wanted to go out on a lil' date," Jazz said, tossing his helm to the side as he grinned.  
"Oh?" Prowl asked, intrigued.  
Jazz nodded. "Nothing big, but since we haven't seen each other in a few days, I thought we could spend some time together." Actually, he had flung from one extreme to the other, and instead of running from Prowl, now he was desperate to be around him, yearning to soak up his affection and being.  
"What do you have in mind?" Prowl reached out and offlined his terminal. Work could wait.  
Jazz stretched out his hand. "Walk with me."  
Half an hour later, the two officers strode side by side as they walked through the scrub meadow hidden behind the volcano's north face. Desert stretched all around, dunes to the south, but scrub meadow and brushland to the north. It wasn't the most scenic place on the planet, but as Hound was fond of reminding everyone, every place had its unique charm.  
Prowl was finishing telling Jazz about the dramatics on the Command Deck, and of Sunstreaker's failed attempts to return to duty. Jazz cringed, shaking his helm, but had nothing to add to the matter.  
"Didn't catch anything on the Aerial recon, hmm?" Prowl asked after a silent moment.  
"Nothin'" Jazz shook his helm. "And no trace in California either."  
"Well, they're lying low right now, whatever they're doing."  
"That's what worries me."  
"Me too." Prowl glanced across at Jazz, a meaningful look in his optics.  
Jazz exhaled a heavy sigh, shaking his helm back and forth as he rolled his shoulders. "I had really hoped, really, truly hoped, that the war was windin' down. The humans were taking over control, they had the Decepticons on the run… It seemed like things were finally getting back to normal."  
Prowl smiled faintly. "What's normal?" he quipped.  
Jazz snorted. "Who knows anymore…" He sighed again. "It was nice to think of a life without fighting though… Without living on the edge."  
Prowl nodded, and the two kept walking. Jazz finally spoke again, breaking the silence. "I didn't know how to not fight at first, you know," he said, glancing back at Prowl with a small, shy smile. "I felt… useless. Restless. Wondering what my point and purpose was in life."  
"Understandable," Prowl mused. "We've been fighting for thousands of years. Most of us can barely remember what life was like before the war began."  
"You seemed to take it in stride though." Jazz peered at Prowl. "You never faltered. Never seemed to waver. How did you deal with switching from soldier to not?"  
Prowl's smile turned thin as he gazed off into the distance. "I think I didn't deal with it, at first," he said softly. "I moved from one project to the next. First it was the allies, then the security arrangements, then taking command when Prime left to be the representative at the UN. After the draw down and the transference of command to the humans, I left for the policing liaison with the Sheriff's office." Prowl shrugged, an unusual motion for him, and his doorwings rippled faintly behind him. "It wasn't until I came back for the twins that I finally faced the end of the war."  
Jazz frowned, confused. Prowl met his scrunched up expression with a small laugh. "I didn't know how to be with other mechs. How to be friends. I was an officer and a commander for too long. Everyone on the Ark was a soldier, a comrade, but… I don't think I understood that until I could see them as mechs." He shifted, stopping them both in their walk and turned to face Jazz helm on. "I have to be able to order everyone, at any time, to do anything. Even fight to their deaths. Go on a one way mission. Run into battle in a blaze of fervor and Autobot spirit. I could do that before. I had… the distance. The crew were just… mechs to command."  
Jazz nodded. "I always wondered that about you. How you did that."  
Prowl nodded back, grim. "You couldn't keep your distance at all, and I kept far too much. I didn't want to know them, didn't want to know about their lives. Everyone was an equation, a pattern of behavior based on logical, predictable actions and reactions." Prowl snorted softly. "Look how well I figured out the twins."  
Jazz chuckled softly as they both started walking again. This time, Jazz strode closer to Prowl, and he lifted his arm to drape over Prowl's shoulders. "No one had any idea. They had everybody fooled."  
"Yes, they did," Prowl agreed. "But as I understood them, I realized I missed them. Wanted to know more about them. Wanted to know more about everyone." Bluestreak's faceplates flashed in front of his processor, along with a stab of pain deep in his spark. He had grown distant from Bluestreak since the twins had come clean, separated by the fissure erupted amongst the crew. "Getting over the war for me," Prowl pressed forward, pushing Bluestreak away, "was coming home. Getting to know everyone around me. Finding out those things about each mech that I should have always known. Making… friends." Prowl smiled sidelong at Jazz, bumping him with his shoulder.  
Jazz smiled back, squeezing Prowl's shoulder in his arm. "It was kind of the same for me, too," he said softly. "Sunny was having all sorts of problems while we were out on tour. Of course, now I know," Jazz said, shaking his helm. "But back then, it was like a switch had flipped: one moment I wanted to be gallivanting around, wild and free, and the next, I had to be taking care of the crew again." He grinned back at Prowl. "I don't think I can't take care of them, in some way. I have to protect them, in peace, war, wherever."  
Prowl nodded, smiling, and his arm rose to encircle Jazz's waist. "Sounds like we meet nicely in the middle."  
"Well, that's what makes us such a great command team," Jazz teased. He grinned wide at Prowl. "You know, for all those years."  
Prowl laughed aloud. "What a mess," he said, shaking his helm. "What were we doing for all that time?"  
"Having a piston pissing?" Jazz smirked at Prowl.  
"Something like that."  
Silence descended over the pair as they walked forward, arms wound around each other. Finally, Jazz spoke again. "You know, I've never really been able to talk about these things with anyone," he said lightly, hiding the weight and depth of his words in deceptively easy going tones. "It's nice," he added, staring ahead. "Real nice."  
Prowl squeezed Jazz's waist tightly in a one-armed hug. Silence fell over the pair again until they reached the edge of their meadow and came to a dried out river bed, once cutting through a great gorge. Fallen tree trunks and dried, windswept dirt were all that remained, a stray scrub brush or two dotting the landscape. They stood together, each lost in thought, until Prowl turned to face Jazz, a purposeful, warm expression spread over his faceplates.  
"Come back with me," Prowl said gently. "Spend the night."  
Jazz froze, his mouth dropping open in shock. "Prowl…"  
"It would be my honour … and a pleasure…" Prowl said, his voice dropping low on the second half. He kept smiling, his optics alight with passion and desire, warm acceptance and fond regard.  
Jazz bit his lower lip, a brief war erupting deep within his spark. Chaos reigned supreme, and he seemed incapable of thought. Everything fell from his lips in one confused jumble. "Prowl… I would… love to, believe me," he said, his optics brightening. "But I… I really don't want to do anything to hurt you," he said softly, his voice trailing off. "I really don't have the best track record in all this…"  
Prowl smiled again and reached for Jazz's hand. The sun was beginning to set, casting the meadow ablaze in golds and pale yellows. "I know your 'record,' and I know who you are, Jazz. I'm not asking you for a lifelong commitment. I'm not even asking you for tomorrow." Prowl squeezed Jazz's hand. "There's something here, between us, and I haven't felt this way about anyone or anything since before I can remember." Jazz smiled and looked away, embarrassed. "I want to explore that, revel in it, seek out everything that it could be," Prowl added, stroking his fingers over Jazz's palm.  
"Let's take this one moment at a time, Jazz," Prowl finished, stepping intimately close to Jazz's plating. He gazed up into his visor, breathing his words out over Jazz's bitten lip. "No commitments…no regrets…" He waited, lips parted as he held Jazz's gaze, hoping for an answer in a kiss.  
It was at that exact moment that Jazz's spark fell, suddenly yearning to be entirely with Prowl, falling incredible depths and plunging into an ocean of emotion. He was falling, and now, finally aware of the true depths of that fall. Commitment, that terrifying, crowded, stifling thing of the past now beckoned. Jazz wanted Prowl, in every way, in every permutation, in every kind of lasting effect.  
He grinned slowly, his optics floating over Prowl's waiting, warm expression, and slowly lowered his helm to meet Prowl's. Their lips melded together, softly molding and flowing over one another as the kiss deepened, shifting from a tender meeting of bodies to the passionate interplay of nips, glossa and denta, striving to dive into each other's being.  
Prowl finally pulled back, panting, his hands resting against Jazz's chestplates. "Let's get back to the Ark," he whispered hoarsely.  
Jazz smiled wide, his spark fluttering in his chest.

***

Sunstreaker lay awake on their berth, staring at Sideswipe. His brother was deep in recharge, lying on his side with one arm loosely thrown around Prowler's bundled body. Prowler lay between them both. Recharge was elusive and nonexistent for Sunstreaker. Silence and strain had settled over both he and Sideswipe, and once again, Sunstreaker shouldered the blame for that.  
Slowly, Prowler began to stir at Sunstreaker's side, nuzzling his face against his plating sleepily. _How much like Sideswipe he looks,_ Sunstreaker thought. How perfectly like his brother Prowler appeared. A wry thought penetrated his fogged processor: it was a good thing he hadn't tried to hide the parent's identity. The crew would have figured it out in no time flat. Sunstreaker's idle thought brought him back to his brother, and his gaze drifted to Sideswipe's recharging form. Sideswipe's beauty, his handsome features and strong, purposeful personality were the magnet to Sunstreaker's spark, the orbital pull of Sunstreaker's soul. How could he go on without Sideswipe? How could he press forward in a new life, one separated from his other half?  
Sunstreaker glanced down at Prowler again, his sparkling already seeming to drift off back into recharge. He shifted, drawing Prowler close against his chestplates once more.  
It seemed he would have to find a new way through his life.

***

Jazz gasped as Prowl shuddered, then groaned aloud. Jazz pushed deep inside Prowl, feeling him quiver. Jazz trembled again, his hands stroking up Prowl's sides before wrapping around his front as Jazz buried his face in the back of Prowl's neck. Prowl arched backwards, moaning Jazz's name in a long, breathy gasp as their bodies pushed and pulsed together, joined deep within.  
"Primus, you feel amazing," Jazz breathed into Prowl's audial, his hips pumping into Prowl with long, steady strokes. He could get lost in the feel of Prowl for hours. Prowl shuddered through it all, pressing his hips and back onto Jazz as he threw his helm back against Jazz's shoulder, panting.  
Jazz rained kisses and hot suckes down Prowl's neck, nuzzling. He leaned backward, moving from kneeling on his knees to sitting on his haunches, and he brought Prowl's body with him. He slid in deeper, striking Prowl deep within, buried full to the hilt. Jazz gasped again, wanting desperately to never, ever let this end.  
Prowl groaned, whispering Jazz's name as he sat back, Jazz impaling him, stroking deep within. Reaching out, Prowl wrapped one hand around Jazz's helm, stroking over his audial horn as he turned to capture Jazz's lips in a searingly hot kiss. Jazz panted and whimpered, his hands stroking over Prowl's abdomen before gripping his hips, and their rhythm slowly began to build up speed once more.  
Over and over they had plunged deep within each other, racing into each other's arms nearly as soon as the doors had slid shut behind them. Now that the moment had finally come to pass, neither mech could hold back, and restraint was a thing of fantasy. Prowl had seized onto Jazz, his slowly stoked passion bursting out in a conflagration of desire, and Jazz had responded with equal fervor and force. Their lovemaking began immediately, every type of foreplay, every means of teasing, every possible position tried and explored.  
"Primus, I don't think I can hold off any longer, Prowl," Jazz whispered, panting into Prowl's audial. He wanted to make love to Prowl forever, never leave this moment of pleasure. "Kiss me," Jazz gasped, the pleasure and heat spiking as firelines of pure lust raced out from his spark, torching every system they crossed. "Prowl, kiss me!" Prowl twisted, pressing his kiss-bruised lips to Jazz in another searing embrace as Jazz's hips pounded away, suddenly surging in speed and depth as his overload neared, rocketing to the finish. Prowl gasped, shuddering anew, another surging overload beginning to crash over him once more.  
They crested together, gasping and panting and wailing into each other's kiss, their engines screaming and bodies trembling. Jazz pistoned Prowl's hips down as he surged upward, then froze as deep as he could go. Prowl bucked, impaled and seizing, surging with passion and pleasure at Jazz's lovemaking.  
Together they pitched to their sides, falling to the berth in a tangle of arms and legs and gasping breaths. Prowl pressed back against Jazz, utterly incapable of movement. Jazz tried to fling a hand over Prowl's shoulders, but even the movement to hold onto his lover was too much, and instead he lay in a tumble, gasping Prowl's name as his body seized in aftershocks of pleasure.  
"Why," Jazz finally panted, rolling his helm to stare at Prowl. "Haven't we been doing that for years?"  
Prowl grinned wide, his optics offline. "I have no idea," Prowl grunted. "But it was a serious tactical error."  
"Frag yeah," Jazz said softly, finally able to wrap his arms around Prowl as he rolled close. Something on Prowl's desk caught his optic. "Is your terminal flashing?" Jazz asked, frowning as he peered across the room.  
Prowl twisted, glancing over his shoulder. "I've got a message?" he asked, confused. He sat up, peering across his quarters alongside Jazz.  
"Oh slag…" Jazz whispered, smiling devilishly as he took in what the messages were.  
"Those are noise complaints!" Prowl gasped a moment later. Jazz buried his face in the crux of Prowl's thigh, chuckling aloud.  
"Whoops," Jazz said, glancing up at Prowl a moment later.  
Prowl gazed down at Jazz, a sheen to his optics and a wild look shining from deep within. "I have never had a noise complaint," he said softly.  
"First time for everything," Jazz grinned.  
"There are three over there," Prowl whispered.  
"Bet we can get more," Jazz whispered back, grinning slyly.  
Prowl didn't answer, but his grin was mischievous, and he pulled Jazz up for another searing kiss that sent all of Jazz's electrons spinning in entirely new orbits.

***

Far on the other side of the continent, buried deep in the basement of a small laboratory outside Arlington, Virginia, a defense mainframe ticked on, humming in the silence of the dead of night. An eerie, otherworldly and alien purple glow pulsed out from the servers and connections, surging briefly before everything fell silent.


	5. Chapter 5

Grunting with the force of trying to restrain his passionate cries, Prowl's helm fell backward as his mouth dropped open. Heavy pants intermixed with tiny gasps were all he let loose, despite Jazz's fervent efforts to the contrary. With one deft, apt move by Jazz, Prowl's body stiffened, his breath shorting out with a quiet, inhaling whine, and his overload struck him silently. One of his hands squeezed against Jazz's helm, one thumb stroking and pressing over Jazz's audial horn as his other weakened, trying to hold him up on his desk. His legs shuddered, his thighs trembling and quivering, and after a moment, Prowl felt the gentle caress of Jazz's lips against his thigh plating.  
Dimly, Prowl's optics flickered on enough to see Jazz's smug look of easy contentment as he looked up from between Prowl's spread legs. Prowl's desk chair pushed back slightly as Jazz stood from its absconded frame. His hands slid up Prowl's sides, and he drew close to his reclining body as he smiled wide. "Did we enjoy that?"  
Smirking as his optics dimmed once more, Prowl let his helm tip backward. "I think someone enjoyed it," he teased gently.  
Jazz's smirk grew wider as he pressed against Prowl's body, grinding their hips together. "You can't tell me that wasn't an overload you just had there, Prowl," he teased back, whispering his words softly as he peppered Prowl's cheeks and neck with kisses and nuzzles. "I could taste it," he purred before kissing Prowl on the lips.  
Prowl smiled around Jazz's kiss, one of his hands coming up to cup Jazz's cheek and helm. "It was a bit of a surprise," he said with a dryly arched optic ridge. Jazz had followed Prowl into his office under the guise of following up on some energon usage reports from the engineering sector, and then swiftly absconded with Prowl's desk chair only to send Prowl elbows-down and ankles-up onto his own desktop. After a moment of surprise, it didn't take long for Prowl to be urging Jazz along, one leg wrapped around his shoulders as his hand sent data pads flying from his desk surface. Decorum still quieted his shouts of passion though. Frivolity and interfacing he may be flagrantly engaging in, but there was no need for the crew to know.  
"I had to pay you back for this morning."  
Prowl's optic ridges flicked upward as he scooted to the edge of his desk, trying to ease himself down and slide close for another kiss at the same time. Inhaling deeply, Prowl turned to Jazz with a raised optic ridge and a knowing, tight smile. "And what is it you have to report on the energon usage in the engineering sector?"  
"They're up about 10% percent. Running on optimum efficiencies and a lack of heavy projects is helping to rebuild our reserves." Jazz grinned, though it was slightly chagrined.  
Prowl nodded once, crisply. "An enlightening report, filled with hands-on demonstrations and linguistic acrobatics. Your edification of the process was supreme." He paused. "I look forward to our next discussion."  
This time, Jazz did burst out laughing. He grinned, shaking his helm as he bit his lip, and then helped Prowl gather up the data pads that had gone flying in Prowl's frenzied grab for a handhold amidst his passion. "Meet you in the Rec Room after shift?" Jazz asked, standing opposite Prowl on the visitor side of his desk once more.  
As if there were any other answer. Prowl nodded, smiling. "Of course. See you later, Jazz."  
Smiles and knowing looks, teasing glances over plating, and then Jazz was walking out of Prowl's office. Prowl watched him go, the thrill and exaltation of his new lover and his new relationship never wearing off, not once in the two weeks since their official coupledom began. Two weeks of constant lovemaking, passionate interfacing, spending every evening together, and increasingly, their duty shifts together as well, and through it all, the fun that had been ever-present in the beginning had shifted and merged, grown into something deeper, greater, and far sexier than anything Prowl could have imagined.  
His doorwings hitched slightly as he thought back to himself only six months ago. Lying out on his desktop while his lover serviced him to overload would have never crossed his processor. But then again, neither would passionate interfacing with Jazz through all hours of the night, or waking up in Jazz's arms each morning, or bringing that smile and that look of wondrous, peaceful contentment to Jazz's face. Only two nights before, they'd spark merged for the first time, almost on accident. There was nothing, not a thing, better than making love to each other, and Prowl almost was tempted to rearrange the duty schedule to give him and Jazz uninterrupted time off for interfacing for the rest of the year.  
Still, they managed to squeeze in their rambunctious and fervent interfacing at every chance they got – morning, noon and night – and almost on accident in the middle of a lengthy, lubricant-drenching, condensation-dripping, gasping, panting session, Jazz's spark plates had split open, cracking slightly with the force of his systems. Prowl's body responded immediately, even before they'd had time to react, and before either of them knew it, their sparks were intertwining and their systems surging, and Jazz overloaded within Prowl with a loud, guttural shout, seizing and burying his face into Prowl's neck as Prowl went rigid, shocked with the force of his own overload burning through his body. Much later, when they had finally collected themselves and could speak coherently again, Jazz propped himself up on one elbow and glanced down at Prowl, a somewhat nervous expression on his face.  
"You do have … a ground, or some sort of … countermeasures… right?" Jazz asked hesitantly, chewing on his lower lipplate.  
Smiling, Prowl nodded his helm slowly, his movements still dazed with lassitude and relaxation from his post-overload high. "Of course," he said softly. "Had a full checkup with Ratchet."  
Grinning, relieved, Jazz chuckled. "You would," he teased, gently nudging Prowl's leg with his knee before sliding closer and gathering Prowl into his arms. "That was pretty good, though," he said after a moment.  
"More than good," Prowl murmured.  
"Pretty fragging awesome," Jazz grinned.  
"Frag yes," Prowl agreed, slowly beginning to drift into recharge. They'd only merged once since, the night before last, but it had been just as momentous and spark-shaking as the first time, and completely unbridled. If Prowl had his way, and he supposed if Jazz did too, there would be a great deal more of that in their future. It was feeling Jazz, the essence of him, the lightness wrapped around steel, the convictions housed in laughter, the curve of his smile touching Prowl's spark. It was everything he adored about Jazz, pressing closer than anything else. He was instantly addicted and wanted more. Thankfully, things seemed to be working out, and though a part of Prowl's processor was patiently reminding him that Jazz didn't do commitment, the rest of him acknowledged that each day they had together was perfect in and of itself. If these days were all they had, then Prowl could live with that. He could live with their shared happiness.  
Shaking his helm with a small smile, Prowl readjusted his chair and sat back down at his desk. Glancing once more at the door, Prowl's smile refused to fade, and it stayed with him as he logged back into the terminal and for the rest of the afternoon.

***

Things were not as perfect for Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.  
Sideswipe watched Sunstreaker across Prowler's play blanket as his brother played with their sparkling. Sunstreaker was dangling Prowler's Prime plushie in his face, then pulling it back when Prowler, lying on his back, would reach for it. Prowler was in fits of giggles, and Sunstreaker even had a small, reserved-for-Prowler-only smile on his faceplates. Smiling sadly, Sideswipe's optics lingered on his brother's smile. It seemed his brother only smiled at Prowler these days. A distance had sprung up between them, untouchable and unknowing, and Sideswipe had been relegated to second place.  
Sunstreaker had seemingly shut down after his failed attempt at returning to duty, and his incredible shame had morphed into an unyielding determination to be the best parent possible to Prowler. Sideswipe had been slowly, silently pushed aside, and he was left with no clue how to reconnect to his brother and lover.  
And how could he? How could he push in between Prowler and Sunstreaker? How could he deprive his sparkling of his favored parent? In his darker moments, Sideswipe recognized that he was jealous of a sparkling, jealous of the unconditional love and affection Sunstreaker showered on Prowler. But, that was how it was supposed to be, he reminded himself. Still, it stung to be second place, to be relegated to the bottom, by not just his brother but his sparkling as well.  
Still, this was his family. He loved the both of them with everything that he was, and nothing would change that. It just seemed that as the days passed, Sunstreaker and Prowler loved each other more than they loved him. Their family consisted of the two of them; Sideswipe was an outsider.  
Sighing, Sideswipe forced himself to his feet. "I'm going to go and get some energon for us," he said softly, forcing a smile to his face. Sunstreaker nodded, not looking up from Prowler's happy gaze. Sideswipe hesitated, inhaling as he debated kissing Sunstreaker's helm or whether that would be an unwelcome gesture.  
Sideswipe turned and headed out of their quarters without leaning down to kiss his brother. _Feels like old times_ , he thought, remembering when they had had to hide their feelings from one another.

***

Sunstreaker watched his brother's backplates slide out of their quarters. Sideswipe was slipping away from him, and Sunstreaker didn't know how to stop that from happening. That realization, accompanied by his keen failure at his first shift back on duty, had been an impossible one to bear, and Sunstreaker had retreated within himself full strength, setting up all his defenses as he tried to refashion his entire life and his entire world. Sunstreaker was no closer to figuring out how to best love his brother, or how to keep their worlds together, then he was before. Instead, he lived in a half-state of dreadful certainty that Sideswipe would leave him, again, and compensated by wearing his sparkling as a shield.  
He just didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to read his brother, didn't have that intuitive sense of emotions and how to reach out that other's seemed to. His whole life had been one confusing set of tangled, contradictory emotions, and he'd never gained anything by revealing them before. His fears built – over Sideswipe leaving, over being alone, again, over being a failure – and alongside it swelled his frustration at having no idea how to do anything about anything.  
It was an uncomfortable place to be.  
Frowning, but trying to hide it, Sunstreaker turned his attentions back to Prowler, who had managed to grab ahold of his toy and was mouthing one of the arms. His gaze lit up as Sunstreaker turned back to him, and a gurgle of excitement mixed with a happy grin exploded out of him. Prowler kicked out happily, but the way his helm turned suddenly struck Sunstreaker nearly breathless. _You look so much like Sideswipe._  
He hoped his brother would get back soon. Even if they didn't say anything, even if everything was returning to tension and silence and distance, Sunstreaker still preferred having Sideswipe with him than without.

***

"Prowl to Jazz."  
Jazz grinned as he answered his comm, leaning back in his office chair and stretching happily. "Heya, sexy," he purred.  
"Jazz, I need you on the Command Deck," Prowl replied, his voice slightly chastising. "We're getting a priority one message from Prime."  
Jazz thunked his chair down quickly, racing from chagrin at the crew overhearing his endearments on the Command Deck to concern over Prime's message. "What's up, Prowl?"  
"It seems the Decepticons have turned up in Washington DC. I've comm'd Sideswipe, and I want the entire Command Team on deck in five minutes."  
Jazz nodded, rising from his chair. "I'm on my way." He cut the comm and headed out, jogging down the hallways until he reached the Command Deck.  
Inside, Prowl, Sideswipe, and Trailbreaker stood together, glancing over one of Prowl's data pads. Behind Jazz, Wheeljack, and Ratchet came through the doors, and all three joined Prowl and the others in front of the main Teletraan terminal.  
Prowl nodded as they arrived. "Let's begin," he said, onlining Teletraan and calling up Prime's transmission once more. Prime stood on the other side of the vid feed in a special office the Pentagon had fashioned just for him. Ironhide was in the background, talking with several military officers standing on a catwalk at about his optic level.  
"We're all assembled, Prime," Prowl began.  
"Good afternoon, everyone," Prime said, nodding to his staff. "These are not the circumstances that I wanted to be contacting you with. However, we've found evidence of Decepticon activity in Washington DC, and this is a very grave threat."  
"We haven't seen or heard a peep from them in over two weeks," Trailbreaker said, frowning. "Whatever they're up to, they're not showing their hand."  
Prime nodded. "They're being especially sneaky, which is not their usual style. I'm concerned by this new shift in tactics. This isn't like Megatron. It's too unpredictable."  
Jazz frowned and jumped in. "What's going on out there, Prime? What are the 'Cons up to?"  
"We've found evidence of a Decepticon hack at the main research facilities of DARPA."  
"Whata?" Jazz frowned. Prowl threw him a look, but Jazz shrugged.  
"Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency," Prime explained. "Part of the US Government's Department of Defense, and charged with exploring, designing and implementing breakthrough research projects in all areas related to defense."  
"Oh." Jazz nodded, his frown deepening.  
"The Decepticons sure would enjoy getting their hands on that information," Trailbreaker added.  
"Indeed." Prowl frowned, and turned back to Prime.  
"What we have been able to discover so far is that the Decepticons have hacked the research mainframes. Thousands of databases of US military research projects, over 90% of them classified. From the looks of it, Soundwave was responsible."  
"With help from Starscream, I'm sure," Prowl nodded.  
"Do we know what they took?" Sideswipe finally joined in, holding his two energon cubes in his hand. He'd been on the way back to their quarters when Prowl had comm'd him. He hadn't had time to let Sunstreaker know he'd be late.  
"Not yet. We're working on that."  
"Prime, we've got to do something about these attacks. The 'Cons are slinking around and all we're doing is trying to catch up. We need to go on the offensive, go on the hunt, before whatever it is they're planning actually happens." Jazz sighed, his hands propped upon his hips in frustration.  
"I agree, Jazz," Prime said, nodding. "This is a very troubling development. With their recent behavior, we can't say for certain what they're up to. We can't operate in such a murky environment. We need to know what it is that they took, why, and what they're planning on doing."  
"What's your suggestion, Prime?" Prowl asked.  
Before Prime could speak, Jazz interjected. "Let me put together a team, Prime," he said. "I can come out there and join you, track the Decepticons to where they're hiding and bring the fight back to them."  
Prime nodded, though Prowl shot Jazz another look. A tiny curl of frustration rose in Prowl, reminiscent of their old tensions and struggles during the earlier years of the war.  
"I was thinking of something similar, Jazz," Prime said. "Put together a team to track this hacking signal, then I want you to recon what you can from the Deception's current position. We need to know what they're plans are before we go attacking them." Jazz nodded, his processor already spinning ahead. "Prowl, I want you to take charge of searching for the Decepticons on the West Coast. We know they were there at least a month ago, possibly two weeks ago. They may have split up into separate contingents, and we're fighting multiple factions. Let's exploit what we can." Prowl nodded, jotting down the information on his data pad. "We need to figure out what the Decepticons are up to, and then put a stop to it," Prime continued. "We don't want this war to flare up to full strength again. What's happened already has been troubling enough."  
The Command Team nodded, swallowing. Sideswipe shifted on his feet, remembering the meeting weeks before, and the talk of sparkling proto-sparks being used to regenerate the Decepticon armies. It still turned his tanks, even now.  
"We'll get right on it, Prime," Prowl said. He glanced across to Jazz, his lover already deep in his own planning stages. "When do you want Jazz to launch?"  
"As soon as possible. I need you and your team here in the next few days."  
"Not a problem, Prime," Jazz nodded. "We'll be heading out sometimes tomorrow."  
Inwardly, Prowl flinched. A small part of his spark rebelled at the idea of Jazz leaving, striking out on a mission and leaving him behind. He wanted to spend all his time with Jazz, and that certainly wasn't possible if Jazz wasn't actually there to spend time with. "Any idea how long this will take?" Prowl asked.  
"No way of knowing until we get on the ground out there," Jazz answered. "We need to evaluate the hack, see how sophisticated it is, then try to break into the coding. Then, if we're even able to do so, we can trace the signals back to wherever the Decepticons have been operating, and then we can start our recon."  
Prowl nodded, his frown mixing with a grimace. "A long time, then," he said stiffly. He turned back to Prime on the terminal screen. "Is there anything else you need, sir?"  
Prime's gaze shifted to Ratchet. "Ratchet, if you could head out here as well. There are a few things we'd like you to take care of."  
"Sure thing, Prime. I can make a house call. For you." Ratchet nodded, a faint glimmer of his humor shining through.  
"Thank you, Ratchet," Prime nodded. "Let's get to work, everyone. We have Decepticons to stop."  
Prowl cut the transmission as Prime moved away, then turned back to the rest of the Command Team. "Trailbreaker, Sideswipe, I want to see possible plans for Decepticon searches based on our intelligence so far. Ratchet, go ahead and get ready for your 'house call.' Jazz," Prowl turned to Jazz. "Let's plan your mission and get your team together."  
"I already have my team picked out."  
Prowl's optics bored into Jazz's. "Let's go over it," he repeated.  
Finally, Jazz nodded, and Prowl turned to the rest of the staff. "Dismissed. We'll reconvene tomorrow morning for our usual briefing. Let's see what we can get together by then."  
The rest of the Command Staff departed, each turning away. Ratchet and Wheeljack headed back to the medbay, though their movements were stiff and distant toward one another. Trailbreaker, the mech on duty, stayed on the Command Deck while Sideswipe beat a hasty exit back to his quarters. Prowl turned to Jazz, then gestured for them both to head to Prime's office, just off the Command Deck.  
They headed inside, and Prowl immediately turned to Jazz. "Can you be ready to go by tomorrow morning?"  
"I can be ready to go in three hours."  
Prowl nodded, swallowing. "Who do you plan on taking with you?"  
"Skyfire, Mirage, Smokescreen, and Sideswipe. And Ratchet's tagging along too."  
Prowl's optic ridges shot up. "Sideswipe?" he repeated.  
Jazz nodded. "Sideswipe. He's a decent tactician, thanks to you, and we need some frontline strength if we're going to be going after the Decepticons."  
"You're not supposed to engage them."  
"Even still, we're tracking 'em, and if they find us, we're going to need some strong support until the cavalry shows up."  
Prowl sighed and turned away. "Why Smokescreen?" he asked.  
"He's about as good a tracker as Hound is, but has more firepower. Hound can stay here and work with the Ark's crew. I need the firepower with me."  
Prowl sighed again, but Jazz pressed on. "There was a reason we had Smokescreen in the frontliner's squad. He was back-up for Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, Prowl. You know this."  
Prowl nodded, turning back to Jazz. "I do. I just don't want to cause any more problems than there already are."  
"Playing favorites again?" Jazz quirked a small smile toward Prowl.  
"No." Prowl shook his helm. "Legitimately concerned about the crew."  
"And you're worried about Sideswipe." Jazz pressed Prowl.  
Prowl's doorwings flicked upward. "I'm worried about separating a parent from his sparkling, yes, especially since we can't determine how long this operation is going to last."  
"Prowler has Sunstreaker, Prowl," Jazz said gently. "He won't be alone."  
"It's not Prowler I am concerned about." Prowl looked away, shaking his helm.  
"I need to have the best mechs with me that I can, Prowl," Jazz finally said, filling the silence. "I can't go searching for the Decepticons, rumbling for a fight, and then not be prepared for one. How can I tell the mechs I'm leading that we'd be better in a fight with Sideswipe, except that our strongest mechs won't come along because they have a sparkling? How fair is that to our crew?" Prowl shook his helm, not answering. "Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are still Autobots, Prowl. They're still a part of this crew. And we still need them."  
Nodding, Prowl turned back to Jazz. "I know. I know all this. I just had hoped that it wouldn't come to war again."  
Jazz sighed. "We need to stop them before this turns into war again, Prowl. What happened to being able to order mechs into battle without a second thought?"  
Prowl fixed him with a cold stare. "Things changed." He sighed. "Take him. Take Sideswipe and go find the Decepticons. We'll be waiting for your comm when you do."  
Jazz nodded slowly. "We'll be careful out there."  
Prowl smiled, but it faded quickly. "You're going to be gone a long time," he mused. "I've… grown accustomed to spending time with you," he finished, carefully couching his words.  
Jazz smiled back at Prowl, but it was subdued as well. "I won't be gone forever," he said softly.  
Prowl nodded, then sighed. "If you're going to take Sideswipe, you need to let him know soon. I've got to get going on the West Coast Decepticon sweeps." Prowl fell back into his officer mode seamlessly. "Prepare your team and get ready for your mission, Jazz."  
Jazz nodded, but a slowly-building alarm was going off within his spark. He'd been so in the moment, so ready to charge in and make things right, so accustomed to action that he hadn't even thought of the personal repercussions of his leaving. Truth told, he'd never gone on a long term operation before while he'd been involved with someone he cared about deeply. And Jazz did care about Prowl… very deeply. In the past, he'd always end things, though they were always casual, with the mech in question before he headed out. No distractions, no excuses, no mechs waiting and pining over illusions. It kept things simple and ordered, and everyone was happy.  
But now… he did care about Prowl. And ending things with Prowl… It was unthinkable. Nervousness, tension and the sudden influx of apprehension filled Jazz's spark.  
He reached out for Prowl. "Hey, we're still meeting after shift, right?" he asked softly.  
Prowl's tight expression relaxed slightly. "Of course," he replied, just as soft. "Though we'd better back it for 1930 hours instead."  
Jazz nodded, smiling quickly, and released Prowl's arm. Prowl turned and headed out first with Jazz following behind, already comming for Sideswipe as he trailed Prowl. His optics lingered over Prowl's helm, his doorwings, and the curve of his backplate, and the images stayed with him as he left the Command Deck behind. What was he supposed to do about this, about the feelings Prowl had stirred up within him? Uncomfortable truths were beating around Jazz's spark, and he didn't know if he was ready to hear them or not. For now, he pushed them away, but that didn't change the fundamental question: What was Jazz going to do about these feelings for Prowl?

***

Sideswipe ran his fingers down the bulkhead, slowly walking back to his quarters from Jazz's office. One foot fell in front of the other, but his optics were unfocused, gazing out into nothing. Jazz had just told him his new orders: leaving tomorrow, an urgent mission, tracking the Decepticons to their hideout. Mission duration, unknown.  
Sideswipe knew he was an Autobot, knew he was officially serving and holding duties. He was a part of the Command Team, even. But he still hadn't expected to be called away, or to have to leave his family. In his mind, he'd never have to leave them again, ever. In reality… it was just a matter of time before something like this happened.  
Sighing, Sideswipe stopped and leaned back against the bulkheads. His optics dimmed as his helm tilted backward, thunking into the orange metal. The thought of leaving and of being separated from Sunstreaker and Prowler was physically painful. Primus, he loved them so much, and he wanted to be within their world, wrapped up in those feelings and the connection they shared. He wanted that, and how was he supposed to nurture those feelings, rebuild their connection, when he was off on a mission for Primus knew how long? Sunstreaker and Prowler were going to spin off together, wrapping around each other's life, and Sideswipe was going to fade away.  
He thunked his helm back against the bulkhead once more, grunting with frustration. This was his day to relax, and he'd been on duty more than off. He had already had to leave Sunstreaker three times, and each time Sunstreaker became more distant and withdrawn. Jazz had comm'd him while they were trying to put Prowler down for his nap, and the signal had startled their sparkling awake. He'd started crying, overly tired and frustrated, and Sunstreaker had been irritated. "Just go," he'd grumbled, trying to calm Prowler down, and once again, Sideswipe was pushed away.  
He had to get back to Sunstreaker. He only had the rest of the afternoon and the night left, and then who knew how long until he saw his brother again. There was so much to do, but all he wanted was to hide away with his family until everything passed by, and their world returned to normal.

***

Ratchet stormed silently into the medbay, Wheeljack on his heels. He headed straight for his stores, pulling out a wide selection of meds, scanners, spare parts and equipment that he might possibly need to see Prime and Ironhide. Behind him, Wheeljack quietly pulled out a gear bag and propped it open on one of the medberths before slinking back to the bulkhead and crossing his arms over his chestplates. Ratchet merely glanced at him as he gathered his equipment, then sighed as he brought it all over the medberth.  
"I'm leaving the medbay in First Aid's charge," Ratchet finally said, breaking the oppressive silence. He loaded his equipment into the bag, one piece at a time.  
Wheeljack nodded slowly, staring off into space and not looking at Ratchet. His audial fins refused to light up.  
Ratchet's engine grumbled, and he started packing his gear with more force. "Why don't you just take that slagging crib out already?" he growled, not looking at Wheeljack.  
Wheeljack frowned, his expression twisting. For two weeks, he and Ratchet had been locked in terrible tension, sniping and biting and screaming at each other over every little thing. It never came back to the root issue, though; neither of them had been ready to have it out over what was truly between them. Instead, Wheeljack had spent more and more time in his lab, Ratchet more and more time in the medbay, and when they were together, all they did was argue.  
Never about this though. This was the untouchable subject, and Wheeljack's spark lurched as he realized Ratchet was starting the argument. "Just leave it alone," he grumbled, shifting on his feet. He hadn't taken Prowler's play crib, the one he and Ratchet had built together, out of his lab, not yet.  
"Fraggit, 'Jack, why are you being like this?" Ratchet growled, finally stopping his packing. He stared across at Wheeljack, a deep scowl marring his features. "You've been pissed off for weeks, and pushing me away. Just let it go!"  
Wheeljack's audial fins finally flashed on, angry and bright. "Ratchet… Don't."  
"Did you think you were some super parent or something?" Now that Ratchet had finally started, nothing was stopping him. His anger took over, pushing out all his words and feelings. "What did you expect? That everything would be perfect? That it would be easy?"  
Wheeljack's helm finally flashed to Ratchet, his optics burning and simmering with anger.  
Ratchet ignored his lover's building wrath. "We're mechs, 'Jack! Soldiers! Warriors! There isn't a single one of us who knows a thing about sparklings! We're all trying to figure this out, and we're going to frag it up before we get it right. This isn't natural or intuitive to any of us! Why are you holding yourself up to some impossible standard?"  
"That's not it, Ratchet," Wheeljack growled, still holding back. His anger was building inside of him, but he refused to let it go.  
"Then what is it?" Ratchet waved his hands in exasperation. "I warned you you were moving too fast! I told you you should have been more cautious! But no, you were determined to try something new, eager for this next challenge. I have news for you, 'Jack: thing's don't always work out perfectly."  
"I'm well aware of that, Ratchet," Wheeljack spat out. "I know perfectly well that things don't work out."  
"Primus!" Ratchet threw his hands up in the air and turned, pacing away a few steps before whirling back around. "You're just as extreme as Sunstreaker, you know," he said, pointing a finger at Wheeljack. "You have the same moods, the same dramatic fits and pouts. Look at you, moping for weeks, over something that could have happened to any of us!"  
Finally, Wheeljack snapped. His rage uncurled, directed at himself more than Ratchet. Still, Ratchet was getting caught in the crosshairs. "Just shut up, Ratchet!" Wheeljack bellowed suddenly. "You don't have a fragging clue what you're talking about!"  
"Then what is it, 'Jack?" Ratchet hollered back. "What is it that's tangled up your circuits?"  
Wheeljack breathed heavily, in and out, before finally speaking. "I can't do this, Ratchet," Wheeljack growled. "I can't do this, and I can't take this pressure anymore."  
Frowning, Ratchet pressed, "What pressure? What can't you do? No one's asking you to watch Prowler again."  
Wheeljack shook his helm. "No. I'm not talking about Prowler. I'm talking about us."  
Finally, Ratchet stopped, and he stared at Wheeljack in confusion. "What?"  
Breathing heavily, Wheeljack pressed forward, his anger and frustration pushing out his words. "I see the way you look at Prowler, and at the twins. I see how much you love Prowler, and I see how much you want a sparkling, Ratchet. I can see it! Your optics don't light up for anything else like they do around Prowler, not anymore. I know that this is what you want, Ratch." Wheeljack audial fins flashed. "And I can't give it to you."  
Ratchet's optics narrowed as he stared at Wheeljack. "What are you talking about?"  
"We don't want the same things anymore, Ratchet," Wheeljack pressed on, his voice wavering with his suppressed anger. "We're moving apart. I can't do this sparkling thing. I can't. I don't want to. And for you… it's all you want."  
"That's not true-" Ratchet tried to say.  
"It is," Wheeljack cut him off. "I feel it, every time we're around the twins. Every time Prowler is here for his checkups. You glow, Ratchet. You smile, you laugh. You don't do that around me anymore." Wheeljack shook his helm, staring down at the decking for a moment before lifting his helm and gazing into Ratchet's optics. "What you want, I can't be a part of."  
Ratchet was silent, staring at Wheeljack as a hundred different retorts, a hundred different angry snap backs all slammed into his processor. Instead he stared, breathing heavily as Wheeljack shook his helm.  
"You're going to have to go somewhere else, Ratchet. Find someone else to have a sparkling with. I can't do it." Wheeljack shook his helm again. "And I won't be a part of something where I am to blame. Where, 'if only for Wheeljack, we'd have a sparkling.'" He swallowed. "No. No. I can't do that. I won't hold you back like that, and I won't be the mech who tramples your dreams."  
Silence reigned supreme. Finally, Ratchet straightened, finishing placing the last of his gear into his bag. "Are you saying," he began, his voice rough and far too deep. "That this is it?" He wouldn't look at Wheeljack."  
A long moment passed between them. Inhaling deeply, Wheeljack finally nodded, his audial fins barely flashing. "Yes," he choked out. "It's for the best."  
"Sounds like you've already made up your mind," Ratchet said quietly, his voice clipped. "There's nothing I can say to change it."  
Wheeljack shook his helm.  
Ratchet nodded, placing the last scanner inside the bag. He left it open, turning to the terminal to check some information. "Well, then that's that," he said, his demeanor deceptively calm. "First Aid will be in charge of the medbay in my absence. While I'm gone, I expect you'll be moving out?"  
Wheeljack flinched, but nodded again, not looking at Ratchet.  
"If there's nothing else?" Ratchet turned back to Wheeljack, and their optics finally met across the medbay. A thousand emotions flashed between their gazes, but Wheeljack slowly shook his helm. "Dismissed," Ratchet said softly, steel in his voice.  
Wheeljack turned and left the medbay, leaving Ratchet and everything behind. Ratchet didn't watch him leave, but as soon as he heard the doors slide shut, he snapped. He grabbed the carefully packed bag of gear he had just packed and flung it, hurling it across the medbay in time with his roar of agonized rage. Tools, scanners, medications and equipment went flying, scattering and clattering into all the dark corners of the medbay, and Ratchet let out another frustrated growl of anger. Heaving in shaking breaths, caught between anguish and rage, Ratchet legs slowly weakened, and he dropped to the deck, sitting on his aft as he lowered his helm to his hands.  
He stayed in silence, his helm in his hands, for the rest of the day.

***

Sideswipe sat next to Sunstreaker, his chin resting on his shoulder, and gazed down at Prowler. Their sparkling was lounging in Sunstreaker's arms, sleepy optics dimming down as his systems powered offline.  
Sunstreaker had taken the news of Sideswipe's departure with no outward sign of emotion. Sideswipe had returned all clenched cables and twisted wires, fingers fumbling over themselves as he struggled to spit out his new mission. Sunstreaker listened with a scowl, nodding slowly at the end, and then grumbled that he knew something like this was coming. Sideswipe hadn't known what to say.  
They didn't talk about it after that, just spent the rest of the day completely devoted to Prowler. Sunstreaker let Sideswipe take the lead in playtime, feeding, and bathing, though Prowler still turned to Sunstreaker first for everything. Sideswipe was equally thankful to his brother for those extra moments with Prowler, and hurt just a little bit each time Prowler turned back to his brother and away from him.  
In Sunstreaker's arms, Prowler's optics finally dropped offline. Sideswipe smiled softly down at Prowler as Sunstreaker wrapped his warming blanket around his body, snuggling Prowler deeper into the folds. Prowler was too young and his systems were too small for his body to regulate his temperature throughout the night. Body heat or warming blankets were the best way to keep his systems running smoothly, and Prowler liked to be wrapped up tight in either arms or his blankets. Sideswipe reached out, running his fingers over Prowler's cheek before tucking the edge of the blanket around his neck. Prowler shifted slightly, pressing his cheek against Sideswipe's fingers, though he stayed offline.  
Standing, Sunstreaker carried Prowler away from the couch and back to their berth. Sideswipe watched him disappear to their dark corner and sighed, expecting Sunstreaker to lay down with Prowler and comfort him into recharge.  
Sideswipe still had so much to do. He pulled down his pulse rifle, laser cartridges and grenades from the highest shelf against their wall. He sat back down on the couch and began to disassemble the rifle, cleaning each part as he went.  
After a few minutes, Sunstreaker came back from their berth sans Prowler and sat down on the couch next to Sideswipe. He reached for Sideswipe's disassembled rifle and a rag, then started helping Sideswipe in his cleaning.  
Surprised, Sideswipe stared sidelong at his brother. "Prowler alright?"  
Sunstreaker nodded, rubbing the cloth around the charging housing and clearing the area of scorched discharge. "He's recharging."  
"He went down easy tonight."  
Again, Sunstreaker nodded. "He got a lot of energon. He'll recharge for a while."  
"Probably online an inch taller too." Sideswipe grinned as he reached for the next piece of his rifle.  
Sunstreaker chuckled once, turning the charging housing over to clean the other side. "Who's going with you?" he finally asked.  
"Jazz didn't say. Just a small team."  
Sunstreaker nodded, and silence fell over the two once more. They focused on their cleaning and the prep for Sideswipe's mission, taking care of his rifle and the cartridges and putting everything in order. Though they weren't speaking, Sideswipe still relished Sunstreaker's presence next to him. It was more than had happened in a long time, and he glanced sideways to peek at Sunstreaker every couple of minutes.  
Finally, Sunstreaker caught him, and he quirked a small smile toward Sideswipe. "Almost done?" he grunted, motioning for Sideswipe to hand him his piece. Sideswipe nodded and passed it over, and Sunstreaker reassembled Sideswipe's rifle quickly. He peered through the scope, then dry fired the chamber, feeling the motions and movements within. He frowned, twisting at the barrel, then rechecked the scope. Finally satisfied it was perfect, Sunstreaker set it down on their table.  
Sideswipe smiled softly. "Thanks." There was no one better than Sunstreaker, save perhaps Ironhide, at munitions.  
Sunstreaker grunted. He was a perfectionist with Sideswipe's rifle, making sure everything was just so. If he couldn't be there with Sideswipe, then his care at least would be.

***

1930 hours turned into 2100 before Jazz was able to log off shift. He and Mirage had buried themselves in the Spec Ops lockers, pulling gear and packing everything away after Jazz told Sideswipe and Smokescreen separately that they'd be heading out with him. He punted, and didn't tell the one of the other just yet, though that gnawed at his insides all afternoon. Just add that to the pile, he thought disparagingly. There were too many things gnawing at his insides. He and Mirage separated after shift, Mirage heading back to Hound while Jazz sat alone in the Rec Room, ostensibly reading up on Prime's information, but actually letting his processor wander.  
What was he going to do about Prowl? What was he going to do about the feelings Prowl had pulled out of him, feelings that were foreign and alien and totally unusual? He hadn't had these feelings about any mech before, and it was terrifying to feel this vulnerable. The loss of control, the looming specter of what those feelings meant, the sudden shifting of his life away from himself… all of it was suddenly right there, uncomfortably close, and Jazz hadn't expected this at all.  
Taking things day-by-day had turned into a day-by-day falling into something, so slowly and insidiously that he hadn't realized until it was too late. Jazz sighed, swallowing, and pushed away his half-finished cube.  
Commitment… It was such a dangerous word. It closed off all other possibilities, eliminated all other courses of action. For Jazz, everything was always on the table, and it had always been that way. There wasn't an option he didn't consider, not one, during the war, during his missions, and he always lived on that line, pushing the edge of what was possible. He'd committed to one thing and one thing only, and those were the values that had led him to the Autobots. Even still, those values were only as strong as their continued existence; if the Autobots suddenly shifted in their values, Jazz wouldn't be sticking around. He was true to one thing only: his spark.  
Where did Prowl fit into that? Jazz's world was constantly changing, constantly moving: new things, new mechs, new people, new music, new missions, new happenings. Tying himself to one mech was the antithesis of change, and yet, Jazz could no more entertain the notion of cutting Prowl loose than he could think of changing himself. Could Prowl be woven into that world of change? Could he become one of those kaleidoscopes of colors, sights, sounds and sensations that made up Jazz's world? Could he be the paradox: Jazz's one and only, always at his side… through all the ups and downs and twists and turns?  
And if Jazz did let Prowl go, what then? There truly weren't a lot of options for him left, and the crew seemed to be splitting off into long term pairings left and right. Who would be left for Jazz, if he gave this up? Change, while romantic, also came with the sting of loneliness.  
Who else would see Jazz the way Prowl saw him? Jazz was so much more than just his exterior, but that seemed to be all anyone ever saw anymore. Prowl had never accepted that, never believed Jazz was what he displayed, and while that had caused friction before, now, it was the cornerstone of Jazz's world.  
It all amounted to an incredible vulnerability, a hole swirling deep within Jazz. He couldn't ignore how he felt. He could accept it, face it, seize it… or let it go, hide it away, banish it forever.

***

2100 hours found Jazz following Prowl into his quarters. Jazz was unusually quiet, still locked in his thoughts, and he perched on the edge of Prowl's couch silently as Prowl puttered around, setting down data pads, pulling out his cube, and trying to shake the day off.  
Prowl wasn't an idiot, and he could see Jazz's subdued nature. A niggling worry pulled at his insides. "What have you been up to?" he asked, stacking his data pads as he tried to expel his nervous tension. _Don't let this be the end. Please._  
Jazz shook his helm. "Just getting ready for our mission." His lips closed, and silence filled the room again.  
Prowl nodded, exhaling. Jazz was normally so tactile, reaching for him, wrapping him up, tripping him up in an excuse to touch – again – or slinging his hands over his shoulders while he sat in his chair. Any number of actions, never allowing any space between them. This gulf of Prowl's quarters yawned wide, pulling them apart. _I thought I was ready for this_ , Prowl thought. _I'm not, I'm not!_  
Forcing a smile to his face, Prowl turned and made to cross his quarters, passing by Jazz on the way. Sighing, Jazz reached out finally and grabbed at Prowl's arm. "Prowl… we need to talk," Jazz said softly.  
_You knew this would happen,_ Prowl said to himself. _You knew this would happen. Don't let him see you down_. "Alright," he choked out, forcing his voice to remain steady. Jazz guided him back around, and Prowl sat down on the couch near Jazz, though not touching. Jazz reached out and took hold of his hand, gently wrapping it around both of his.  
Jazz wouldn't look him in the optics.  
"What is it, Jazz?" Prowl pressed softly. "Just tell me."  
Jazz nodded slowly and inhaled, rubbing one thumb over the back of Prowl's hand. This was so much harder than he had thought it would be. "Prowl… you know I don't… do commitment," he said, his words too deep.  
"I do," Prowl whispered. He squeezed down on Jazz's hand. "I never had any illusions that I would change you, Jazz." He smiled painfully. "I had hopes, and they grew, but… I know that it's not a part of 'The Jazz' to commit."  
Jazz finally looked up, a tight smile on his face. "'The Jazz?' I have my own article now?"  
Prowl shrugged. "Well, you do to me," he teased. He smiled, holding Jazz's stare sadly.  
Jazz's spark lurched, desperation streaking from within. Prowl had no right to be this kind to him, no right to understand him so deeply. He should be screaming, should be furious, he had every right to have expectations and desires for the two of them, together. This was unknown, foreign, this acceptance and understanding. Primus, what was Jazz doing? Throwing this away?  
Moving suddenly, Jazz came down off the arm of the couch. He crawled toward Prowl, a new light burning from his optics and visor. "Prowl," he choked, moving to Prowl's lap. "Make love to me," he whispered, his voice too-husky.  
"What?" Prowl gasped.  
Jazz clambered into Prowl's lap, straddling his hips. The vulnerability was screaming within him, begging for resolution, crying out for absolution, for an answer in Prowl form, and Jazz couldn't push it aside. He had no idea how to communicate this to Prowl, no idea how to tell him that Prowl had unseated the very essence of his world. Words were inadequate, faced with this power, and he had to show Prowl how he felt. He had to match the vulnerability outside with the vulnerability inside, show Prowl how Prowl made him feel. It wasn't sensical, but then again, neither was Jazz. "Make love to me," he repeated.  
Prowl's optics blazed, shocked and full of disbelief. "Jazz… What?"  
"I need you, Prowl," Jazz whispered, his voice cracking as it dropped another octave. "I… I have to do this. Please." He leaned forward, cupping Prowl's helm as he rubbed their noses together. "Please…" he breathed.  
Prowl stared at Jazz, still shocked. "Have you ever…?" His voice faded away.  
Jazz shook his helm slowly. "I want you, Prowl," he whispered again. "I want to give this to you," he finished with barely a sound.  
"Jazz…" Prowl's hands finally rose, cupping Jazz's faceplates gently, and he gasped a soft smile before slowly bringing their helms together, his spark exploding with the force of his emotions.  
Jazz pressed forward, begging for a kiss, and Prowl responded eagerly, melding their lips together with a small whine. Jazz began shaking, trembling, and Prowl's hands fell to his shoulders, wrapping him close as he tried to hold Jazz tight.  
After several long minutes of kissing, Prowl broke away with a gasp. "The berth," he whispered, pressing his forehelm against Jazz's. "I want to make love to you in the berth, not on the couch." Jazz nodded, and they both stumbled to their feet.  
"You're beautiful," Prowl whispered. "So beautiful."  
Jazz grinned, a quick flash of his lips. "That's my line," he whispered back. Despite his convictions, his body began to tremble again, the confluence of emotions too much to process.  
Prowl reached out and stroked over his thigh. "You're trembling," he whispered. Jazz nodded, swallowing. "I promise I won't hurt you."  
"I know."  
"Are you sure?" Prowl whispered, gazing down at Jazz.  
Jazz nodded, unable to speak. He lifted his legs, wrapping them around Prowl's hips, and that little action caused the tip of Prowl to slide within Jazz. He pushed, pressing himself inside Jazz where no other mech had ever been. Stars streaked past his optics, blinding him as he gasped for air that wasn't there. Beneath him, Jazz went rigid, feeling Prowl in every which way, seemingly all the way up to his spark chamber, and his back arched as tried to both escape and chase the feelings. Gasping, they both fought for control, their bodies firing in every which way.  
It lasted far longer than either expected, the pressures and pleasures slowly building in an inferno within each of their systems. Jazz had never, not ever, felt anything like this before, and he shuddered at each slide of Prowl deep within his body. Each kiss they shared, each slide of their bodies together seemed to fill that hole in Jazz's being, filling it with feeling and certainty. This was what he needed; this was the right thing. He was falling, taking a flying leap, taking the chance he'd never done before.  
Fittingly, it was Jazz's chestplates that separated first again. He was the one struggling with how to deal with his too-strong emotions, and just as the first time his chestplates split open, it was entirely out of his control.  
Prowl's systems reacted instantly, again, and his spark plates had split open before he even knew what was going on. The flash of light, and then a burning crush of force broke their kiss apart. Suddenly, all that was Jazz, all the power of his emotions and his yearnings, burst into Prowl, and all of Prowl, his own longings, hopes, dreams and fears, burst back into Jazz.  
Jazz gasped, grabbing Prowl's shoulders, and his optics blazed white-hot. He screamed, arching his back upwards. "Primus, Prowl, I love you..."  
Prowl's world screeched suddenly, his audials roaring, his spark exploding, his optics blazing, and all he could feel were Jazz's words, his spark flooding his with love and passion, and the intensity of his own response flowing back to Jazz. It was too much, and he exploded, overloading with a fury that he'd never felt before. His overload triggered Jazz's, and they screamed together, cascading into each other's systems as Prowl buried himself as deep.  
Much later, after they'd collapsed, nearly offline, and their spark plates had sealed themselves back together, Prowl rolled close to Jazz's side, resting his helm on Jazz's out-flung arm. Jazz's optics were offline, his breathing deep and heavy. "Was that what you wanted to talk about?" Prowl asked softly.  
Smiling, though he didn't online his optics, Jazz nodded slowly. His arm folded, wrapping around Prowl's shoulders and helm. "Yes," he whispered, pulling Prowl close.  
Prowl smiled, shifting to Jazz's shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around Jazz's waist. "Best conversation ever," he whispered, kissing Jazz's cheek.

***

The next morning, Jazz's team all met up outside the Ark for their mission. Skyfire transformed, waiting for the others to finish their loading. Bluestreak had shown up with Smokescreen and was helping him and Mirage load his supplies and some of Jazz's equipment into Skyfire's hold.  
Jazz and Prowl arrived together, and they both walked around checking the supplies and talking softly amongst each other. Their hands never left each other's plating for long, touching, reaching out, or gesturing for each other's attention. After the touches came the lingering gazes with their optics, and it was enough for Bluestreak to snort and jut his chin at, chuckling softly with Smokescreen.  
Last to arrive were the twins. Sideswipe hadn't wanted to leave at all, and he'd spent a rechargeless night praying to push off the morning. Sideswipe didn't want to leave Prowler, and in the end, Sunstreaker pulled Prowler out of the berth and decided to come with Sideswipe. If this was the last time he was going to see his brother for a long while, then he wanted every last minute he could get. Prowler was grumpy at being awoken so early, and he was fitful at Sunstreaker's shoulder.  
Of course, as they arrived, both twins caught sight of Smokescreen and Bluestreak. Sunstreaker came up short, instant shots of rage and panic warring within him. Sideswipe stopped as well, jarred by the sight of his two former friends and lovers.  
Sunstreaker turned to Sideswipe, anger contorting his features. "You didn't tell me that he was going!" he snapped.  
"I didn't know!" Sideswipe's gaze flicked from Sunstreaker to Smokescreen, shocked. Bluestreak glared over Smokescreen's shoulder.  
"Sideswipe…" Sunstreaker growled, glaring fiercely at his brother.  
"I didn't know." Sideswipe turned back to Sunstreaker, panic settling deep within. "Sunny, I didn't know…" He reached out for his brother.  
Sunstreaker twisted back. "Don't," he choked out. Prowler shifted, a small cry bursting forth, and Sunstreaker turned away, trying to comfort him.  
Despair sank into Sunstreaker. So this was how it was going to be. Sideswipe, happy, joyous Sideswipe, would be away from the Ark on a mission, and he would be wonderful and captivate everyone around him once more… including Smokescreen. Sideswipe, who could – and had – anyone he wanted, would remember that he didn't have to be tied to the sullen, moody brother he left back home. He didn't need someone who was useless and who couldn't express themselves, or figure out what to say. He could have something so much better.  
The pain clenched around Sunstreaker's spark, certain and unavoidable. Once again, it was all his fault.  
"Sunny…" Sideswipe stood behind his brother, desperate to reach out for him. "I didn't know he was going. It doesn't matter, though." His hand pressed against Sunstreaker's shoulder.  
Slowly, Sunstreaker turned around, staring at Sideswipe. "Don't," he choked out again, shaking his helm. Sideswipe sighed and dropped his hand.

***

Bluestreak watched the whole display, though was too far away to hear the words. He turned to Smokescreen with a roll of his optics. Smokescreen, though, was still watching the twins with an unreadable expression on his face. "They're just fraggers, Smokey," Bluestreak grumbled.  
Smokescreen turned away, helping load the last of the crates. Mirage was inside, strapping everything down. "I didn't know he was coming," Smokescreen said, shoving the last of the gear in place.  
"You'll be fine," Bluestreak said, helping Smokescreen secure the gear down. "Just… ignore them. Stay away from Sideswipe." He glanced at Smokescreen, then looked away. "I don't want you to get hurt again."  
"I have no interest in getting anywhere close to Sideswipe again," Smokescreen grumbled. He sighed, then headed down Skyfire's ramp. Bluestreak tagged behind, and then snorted as he caught sight of Jazz and Prowl talking softly and saying their goodbyes.  
"Look at that slag," Bluestreak whispered, grinning at Smokescreen. Still, it was Skyfire and Mirage who got the last laugh as Bluestreak turned and mimicked Prowl by standing opposite of Smokescreen as he said his own goodbyes. "Be careful out there," Bluestreak said, reaching out with his fist.  
Smokescreen smiled and bopped his own fist down on top of Bluestreak's. "Stay out of trouble here," he said.  
"I always stay out of trouble." Bluestreak grinned.  
Smokescreen snorted and then turned back up the ramp. Mirage was leaning against Skyfire's cargo hold doors, smirking at the display. "What, no Hound?" Smokescreen teased.  
"He's still recharging last night off," Mirage shot back, turning and heading inside. Smokescreen laughed and followed.

***

Outside, Jazz finally pulled away from Prowl. They didn't kiss – it wasn't becoming in public, or so Prowl said – but their doeful optics and burning gazes said more than enough. "Hurry back," Prowl whispered.  
Jazz nodded, then glanced over the group. "Where's Ratchet?"  
Almost on cue, Ratchet bustled out of the Ark, glowers and glares spilling from his features as he brushed past everyone with a growl and ran up Skyfire's ramp. Jazz and Prowl exchanged a worried look, but then it was time to launch, and Skyfire's engines started up.  
Jazz bounded up the loading ramp, stopping at the entrance and waiting for Sideswipe. "Sides! Let's go!"  
Sideswipe backed away from Sunstreaker, his optics boring back to his brother's. Sunstreaker stared back silently, his optics burning with rage and darkly-concealed anguish.  
Finally, Sideswipe turned and joined the rest of the team, sliding past Jazz and into Skyfire's hold with an empty hole burning itself deep into his spark. Mirage and Smokescreen were sitting together, Ratchet alone in a corner, and the only place left for Sideswipe was the other corner, all alone. He sighed, and settled in, thunking his helm back and offlining his optics for the long flight.  
Alone was where he belonged.

***

Three weeks had gone by, and Jazz's team had made impressive progress. After dropping Ratchet off with Prime and Ironhide in DC, Jazz and the others headed down to Virginia to DARPA headquarters, where they began tracking the hack. They couldn't break into the hack, and had no idea what was stolen – Jazz kicked that back to the Ark, for Prowl, Wheeljack and Perceptor – but they were able to trace the path the Decepticons had woven, the myriad of proxies, servers and failure switches they had built into their hack. Jazz saw Soundwave's signature all over it, but he was used to playing spy versus spy with the Decepticon officer, and it was almost like old times.  
Two weeks into their mission, Jazz and the team set off again, physically tracking the Decepticons up the East Coast and into Canada.

***

On the Ark, all seemed to be operationally efficient, everything working in perfect order. Prowl and Trailbreaker led their own search teams, tracking the remnants of the Decepticons on the West Coast, though most days it felt like tracking after ghosts and shadows. All seemed to be fine, but upon closer inspection, misery hung in the air, especially around certain mechs. Wheeljack was especially withdrawn, sullen and introverted, and he stayed locked within his lab day and night, only coming out for brief trips to the Rec Room for energon. He spoke to no one, and no one knew that he had silently moved out of Ratchet's quarters the first night Ratchet was gone.  
Prowl was the picture of professionalism, the head of the crew, and kept everything running at perfect tempo onboard. But at night, after he logged off duty and headed back to his quarters, the silence of the room weighed in on him, and he sat there, trying to read or to listen to some of Jazz's music, but his mind would wander. Instead, he remembered all the time he had spent with Jazz there, their laughs, talks, and Jazz's never-ending jokes. He missed Jazz, and ever since their confessions of love to each other, Prowl didn't hold back anymore. He loved Jazz, and he missed him. He missed coming home to him every night. The Decepticons, he decided, had the worst timing in the world.  
No one, though, was more miserable than Sunstreaker. His world had collapsed down to only Prowler, and he existed as an entity apart from the rest of the busy and bustling crew. Without Sideswipe, and with Prowl logging almost double duties tracking the Decepticons, there wasn't a single mech who came to see Sunstreaker. His days and nights were spent in his quarters, locked with Prowler, and nothing changed his routine.  
The only thing worse than his isolation were his thoughts of Sideswipe. Frantic nightmares and certainties of Sideswipe's straying haunted his every day. Sideswipe didn't need to be with him, he kept reminding himself. Sideswipe could have so much better, and he would be reminded of this, over and over again.  
Sunstreaker's one venture out to the crew didn't do anything to improve his situation. For once, he was sick of being alone. He headed to the Rec Room, steeling himself as he shifted Prowler across his shoulders. He didn't want to talk to anyone, didn't want to sit with anyone… but he couldn't go back to their dark quarters just yet. He finally arrived, and after a deep breath, pushed inside.  
The afternoon bustle of the Rec Room was building as mechs came off shift, and all the helms turned toward Sunstreaker as he slipped within. He glared back instantly, then stormed across to a far corner. Prowler, who had only been in the Rec Room once before, twisted and looked around at the room and the mechs with curiosity. Silence reigned before the others slowly picked their conversations back up, now filled with shock.  
Sunstreaker sat at a far table with Prowler in his lap. Prowler wasn't interested in playing, and instead he gazed out across the room, staring at the other mechs with unabashed interest. A few mechs stared back, and one – Hound – waved at Prowler. Prowler grinned, then shouted in his sparkling exuberance, pointing toward Hound and looking back at Sunstreaker. Prowler was used to being the center of attention.  
"What is that doing here?" A low grumble suddenly growled out from the mass of mechs hanging out around the TV. Helms and optics shifted to the side, staring at the couch, and a few mechs slipped apart, revealing the minibots clustered together on the couch. Cliffjumper turned and glared fiercely, then popped to his feet. "What is that doing here?" he snapped again, his voice slow and dripping with venom. Instead of looking at Prowler, he looked straight at Sunstreaker.  
"'Jumper…" Hound tried to intervene.  
Cliffjumper ignored him. "Must be nice, ya know, to not have to pull shifts. Not have to go on duty. Not have to fight. Must be nice! Just sit back… Cool your heels… Nothing to do except lie back and frag." Cliffjumper's optics flashed angrily. Silence, thick and dense, filled the Rec Room.  
Sunstreaker growled, his engine surging, and he held Cliffjumper's hatsh stare. The trouble was, he couldn't say anything back. Cliffjumper was right: he didn't do anything anymore.  
"Don't know why we're still keeping you on board," Cliffjumper pressed on. "You're nothing but a taker. You don't contribute anything to our mission. You were barely an Autobot before, and now! Huh!" Cliffjumper shook his helm, then spat at the decking. "Nothing but Prowl's mercy is keeping you fueled." Cliffjumper finally motioned to Prowler in Sunstreaker's arms.  
"Jumper!" Hound jumped to his feet, a scowl on his face. Across from him, Blaster also stood, frowning.  
Sunstreaker ignored them entirely. He rose slowly, holding Prowler in his arms, and then stalked out of the Rec Room. Every mechs' optics were on his plating, crawling over his body. This had been a mistake.  
"Why'd you even come here?" Cliffjumper shouted, just as Sunstreaker was heading out the door.  
Sunstreaker snapped. He whirled around, lashing out. He kicked at the nearest table, hard, sending it flying before it somersaulted and toppled over, the cubes flying and the mechs seated around jumping backwards. His optics burned, raging, and he stormed toward Cliffjumper.  
"Whoa!" Hound jumped up, holding out his hands and stopping Sunstreaker. Blaster rose as well, stepping in front of Cliffjumper. "Sunstreaker, back off!" Hound shouted.  
In Sunstreaker's arms, Prowler began whimpering, suddenly terrified of the turn of events. He let out a wail, clinging to Sunstreaker's arms tightly. Sunstreaker shook Hound off silently. He'd been fully prepared to rip Cliffjumper to pieces, Prowler in his arms.  
Sunstreaker glared fiercely at Cliffjumper, then at the entire Rec Room. Still, he said nothing, but his body was vibrating with rage, and his hands clenched into fists around Prowler.  
Finally, Sunstreaker stormed out of the Rec Room without another comment.  
Blaster glared down at Cliffjumper. "Not cool, man," he said. "Not cool." Hound glared at Cliffjumper as well, and he helped the other mechs right the table Sunstreaker had kicked over before he left with Blaster, First Aid, and Perceptor.

***

Sunstreaker was raging, pacing back and forth in his quarters. Prowler sat on his play blanket, subdued and watching Sunstreaker with wide optics. Sunstreaker's engine was racing, pounding, and he grumbled and growled to himself as he paced back and forth. The trouble was, Cliffjumper was right. Sunstreaker was worthless right now, and that was just another thing that was his fault.  
He growled again, then whirled and stared at Prowler. Prowler stared back, wide-optic'd and silent, idly banging an energon cube against the blanket.  
"Sunstreaker to Wheeljack," he growled, activating his commlink. "Come to my quarters."

***

Four weeks after Jazz's team left the Ark, Jazz and the rest had tracked the Decepticons up into the Eastern Canadian provinces. They were on the border of Quebec and Newfoundland, up in the area of the Hudson Strait, and slowly picking through the wilderness in search of the Decepticons' hideaway. Their days were full of search teams, low-level flights, and scanning missions sent out with drones and flyers, and in the evening, the mechs all came back to their base camp set up far down in the lowlands, sheltered around Skyfire's form.  
Sideswipe, however, sat apart from the rest.  
Jazz's footsteps crunched through the snow as he walked over to Sideswipe. He crouched down, holding out a cube for Sideswipe as he cradled his own close. "Here, have another," he said softly. "We worked pretty hard today." Jazz's tank was churning, eager for more energon.  
Sideswipe smiled sadly and took the proffered cube. "Thanks," he whispered. He gazed up at the sky, watching the stars and the path of the moon as it traversed the black night.  
"You okay?" Jazz nudged Sideswipe's shoulder with his own, worried about Sideswipe's increasing depression.  
Sideswipe sighed heavily. "It's bathtime," he whispered. "Prowler hates baths. I normally give them, 'cause I can distract Prowler with…" His voice faded, and he smiled sadly. "Funny noises," he finished quietly. He swallowed. "Sunny cleans up a bit, and then I bring Prowler over to him." He stared down at the cube and then pulled out a small tube of additives from his subspace. He flipped it slowly in his hands, turning it over and over and watching the fine particles fall within. "We all sit on the couch, huddled together… and then Prowler falls into recharge…" Sideswipe's voice faded away. He subspaced the additives, unable to use them now without Prowler to take it in. "I miss them so much," he whispered.  
Jazz froze, staring at Sideswipe. The pain in Sideswipe's voice was palpable. It grated over Jazz's spark. "It won't be much longer," he choked out. "We just need to find the Decepticons, Sideswipe."  
"I know." Sideswipe rolled the cube in between his hands, nodding slowly. "I know that this is important. But… I still don't want to be here." He glanced at Jazz, an apologetic look on his faceplates.  
Jazz exhaled, then reached out and squeezed Sideswipe's shoulders. He didn't have anything to say to comfort Sideswipe, didn't have any happy words for him. He didn't know when they'd be heading home. They were closing in on the Decepticons, but they weren't there yet. He had hand-picked Sideswipe for the team, and he wouldn't change that decision. The reasons he chose Sideswipe were still valid, still sound, and that didn't change just because Sideswipe wasn't happy with their mission. "Sunny's waiting for you, Sides," Jazz said, pushing himself to his feet. "Prowler too. They're just waiting for you to come home."  
Sideswipe nodded sadly, somewhat unconvinced, and stared down at the snow again. "Do you miss Prowl?"  
Jazz's throat clenched briefly. He missed Prowl so much he could hardly stand it, if he stopped to think about it. Most times he pushed it away, refusing to think about Prowl, but then when it hit him, it was almost overwhelming. It was that intense now, as Sideswipe dragged up those feelings. "Yeah," he choked out. "I do."  
Sideswipe nodded again, then fell silent. Jazz inhaled deeply and turned away, heading back to the main group. Mirage and Smokescreen were chuckling over some gaff of Smokescreen's that day and relaxing around a small fire outside Skyfire's landing ramp. Jazz waved at them both and headed inside Skyfire, then settled down in the forward flight cabin. He propped his feet up on the control panel, letting his helm lean back.  
"You alright, Jazz?" Skyfire's voice surrounded him suddenly, echoing around the main flight deck.  
Jazz nodded, grinning slightly. "Yeah, I'm alright," he said slowly. He could see Sideswipe's outline through Skyfire's windows, and he watched as Sideswipe stared up at the sky mournfully.  
"Sides looks pretty lonely," Skyfire mused.  
Again, Jazz nodded. "I hope we find those Decepticons soon," he said slowly. "We all want to head home."

***

Wheeljack hesitated outside of Sunstreaker's door. A week had passed since the incident with Cliffjumper in the Rec Room, and on that afternoon, Sunstreaker had comm'd Wheeljack to come to his quarters. He had a desperate request for Wheeljack.  
Wheeljack hadn't been that interested in Sunstreaker's shouts and bellows, but Sunstreaker was insistent, in his own way, and Wheeljack was already vulnerable and wounded, especially in this area. He buckled, acquiescing, and Wheeljack agreed to watch Prowler again for a half shift every day in Sunstreaker's quarters while Sunstreaker took over Sideswipe's duties with Prowl. Sunstreaker stayed with Prowler and Wheeljack for a little while before he headed out, leaving both behind, and went straight on duty.  
Prowl was initially unimpressed with Sunstreaker's plan, but once again, Sunstreaker was stubbornly insistent, and Prowl reluctantly agreed to let Sunstreaker come on shifts. He was as optimistic for success as he was the first round, though.  
When Sunstreaker returned to his quarters the first day, Prowler was sobbing and wailing, Wheeljack was dejected and shame-faced, and Prowler clung to Sunstreaker with the same fierce desperation as before. This time though, Sunstreaker wasn't changing his mind.  
" _We have to be strong, Prowler_ ," he had murmured to his sparkling. " _We have to be strong, and work with the crew. We have to fill in for Sideswipe while he's gone._ " Prowler hadn't cared, nor understood, what Sunstreaker was saying. All he knew was that Sunstreaker kept leaving him with Wheeljack, day in and day out, for four hours at a time.  
Wheeljack, for his part, was miserable as well, but in his eternal punishment it seemed that he would never be free of sparklings. He didn't have any excuse to not help Sunstreaker. He had the time during the day and wasn't working on any pressing projects. He helped with the Decepticon searches, running analyses on the information and intelligence collected from the search teams, but it was scant and scarce and he wasn't that busy.  
Thus, he came to Sunstreaker's quarters daily for his and Prowler's shared punishment.  
Wheeljack knocked on Sunstreaker's door, thinking for the millionth time back to Ratchet. What would Ratchet say if he could see Wheeljack now? How was Ratchet, still across the country with Prime and Ironhide? They hadn't spoken, not once, since that afternoon in the medbay. Wheeljack missed him horribly, but he knew that there wasn't any going back, not anymore. Ratchet and he had different paths now.  
Sunstreaker chimmed Wheeljack into his quarters. Prowler was set up on his play blanket, toys spread out all around and ready for play. As it happened every day when Wheeljack walked into their quarters, Prowler's faceplates twisted and contorted, and then his bottom lip pushed out as wide, bright optics turned up to Sunstreaker. Sniffles gave way to sobs and wails, and Prowler tried to roll toward Sunstreaker's leg, desperate to keep him near.  
"I'll be back in four hours," Sunstreaker grumbled to Wheeljack, passing by him and heading out the door.  
Wheeljack nodded slowly and stared down at Prowler. "You look like I feel," he said softly, his audial fins flashing softly. Prowler's sniffles shifted slightly as he watched Wheeljack's audial fins flash, but his cries started up again as Wheeljack remained silent. Slowly, Prowler pitched forward, resting his forehelm on the blanket as he sobbed and hiccupped. Wheeljack sat down next to Prowler's blanket with a sigh, and he reached out to rub down his small backplates. It was the same every day: Prowler cried himself to recharge, and Wheeljack watched Prowler throughout his nap. Sunstreaker came home, Prowler onlined, and Wheeljack slinked away.  
Prowler's hiccups slowed as his optics dimmed, and he sucked on his wrist as he faded offline. Wheeljack leaned back against the wall and let his mind drift as Prowler slipped offline. Invariably it drifted back to Ratchet, and he let out a painful sigh at the memories. Leaving Ratchet was supposed to free him of the burdensome failure of sparklings. Now, Ratchet was gone, he was sparkling sitting, and he was more lonely than ever before.  
Still, it was for the best. He kept telling himself that, over and over again.

***

Prowl was a little bit surprised every day when Sunstreaker continued showing up for Sideswipe's shifts. He only worked half shifts in the middle of the day, but he seamlessly took over Sideswipe's duties and had proved himself to be sharp, analytical, and able to balance each of the sometimes-tedious duties Prowl handed to him. Sunstreaker never complained, not once, and he never pulled a face or an irritated glower as he would have only a year ago. Now, Sunstreaker worked on compiling the intelligence analyses built by Perceptor and Trailbreaker to send to DC for Prime. Prowl watched the incoming raw intelligence feeds on the main Teletraan terminal, trying to find patterns and nuggets of information. Nothing, however, stood out.  
Tracks, sitting at the comms board, suddenly turned to Prowl. "Prowl, I'm getting a transmission from our away team."  
Prowl stared back at Tracks. He hadn't heard from Jazz's team personally since leaving DC, only data bursts of information. "Is it a distress call?" he asked.  
"No." Tracks shook his helm. "Jazz is on the line. He wants to speak with you."  
Prowl frowned and crossed the deck, plugging into the comm feed above Tracks. "Prowl here," he said gruffly.  
"Hey Prowl." Jazz's warm voice flowed over the line, comfortable and tired sounding. "How are you doing?"  
Prowl's spark did a flip-flop within his systems, resettling and vibrating in his chestplates. He turned away from Tracks, waving him out of the comm feed. Tracks smirked and unplugged his line. "I'm doing alright, Jazz. How are you?"  
Jazz sighed heavily. "Tired," he said honestly. "We're doing a lot of legwork out here, and we don't have much to show for it."  
"I've seen your data." Skyfire pinged back data bursts twice a week to the Ark for extra analysis. "We're narrowing them down. You've got the Decepticons hemmed into a 1000 miles radius."  
"Yeah, but it's a big 1000 miles," Jazz said, chuckling softly.  
Prowl smiled. "How's everyone else doing?"  
Jazz hesitated, shrugging on his end. "So-so. I think a lot of us are ready to head back." He paused. "Me included."  
Prowl's smile grew tight. "I'm ready for you to come back, too."  
"Hey, do you know where Sunny is?" Jazz suddenly asked.  
Prowl glanced across the Command Deck. "Yes, he's right here."  
"He's there? Aren't you on the Command Deck?" Jazz sounded confused.  
"He's working on half shifts again. He's taken over for Sideswipe."  
"Wow," Jazz mused. "I'm impressed." He paused, then spoke to someone off the comm line. "Can you put him on the feed? I have someone here who really would like to say hello."  
Prowl smiled, then motioned for Sunstreaker to join him. Silently, and glaring at all the mechs who stared at him as he crossed the deck, Sunstreaker joined Prowl at the comm terminal, frowning in confusion. "Plug in," Prowl said softly. He heard Jazz saying the same to Sideswipe on his end.

***

"This is Sunstreaker," Sunstreaker grunted harshly, frowning.  
"Sunny?" Sideswipe's tired voice bloomed across the feed. "How are you?"  
Sunstreaker's gaze flashed up to Prowl's, shocked. "I'm fine," he grunted.  
"What are you doing on the Command Deck?"  
Sunstreaker frowned again. "I'm working your shifts," he grumbled. "Half shifts, every day."  
Sideswipe didn't know what to say. "Wow," he finally said lamely. "That's great." He swallowed as Sunstreaker stayed quiet. "How's Prowler?"  
"He's alright," he said quietly. Aside from his pouting during the four hours Sunstreaker was on duty, Prowler was doing just fine. In fact, Prowler didn't even seem to notice Sideswipe's absence. Sunstreaker was able to take care of all of his needs, day in and day out, and aside from one or two confused chirps during their playtime, Prowler hadn't ever indicated he recognized Sideswipe's absence. In between Sunstreaker's desolate certainty that Sideswipe was fading away and his anger over being left behind, a new thought had taken hold: he could actually do this alone.  
"I miss you, guys." Sideswipe whispered. Silence. "Do you miss me?"  
Sunstreaker's insides churned. He missed Sideswipe more than he could ever say, but, of course, that was his fundamental problem. He just couldn't say what he needed to, and instead it came out jumbled, tangled and confused. "Yes," he grunted, unable to push out anything else. Sideswipe sighed, and Sunstreaker knew he'd failed again.  
"I think we're coming back soon," Sideswipe started speaking. "At least, I hope so. When I get back, let's talk, Sunny. We need-"  
Sunstreaker's tanks were churning as Sideswipe spoke. Nothing good ever came from the words "let's talk," and it wasn't his favorite activity anyway. A thousand different scenarios flashed through his mind, and he remembered the way Smokescreen had stared at Sideswipe at the beginning of their mission.  
His thoughts were cut off, however, by the sudden whooshing of a rocket streaking too-close on the other end of the comm line, and then the crashing of an explosion, echoing all around. Jazz, far in the background, shouted an alert, calling for his team to take cover as more explosions and rocket impacts started streaking inbound. Sunstreaker, listening on the line, froze. "Sideswipe!" he shouted. Prowl, sensing his spiking panic, plugged back into the comm feed.  
"Frag!" he heard Sideswipe shout, then another explosion, this one closer than all the others, before the line went totally dead.  
"Battle stations!" Prowl called. "Our team is under attack!" The Ark's alarms started wailing as Prowl spoke and the Command Deck spurned into high action. "Contact Prime and the Pentagon, feed them the coordinates from that transmission!" Prowl barked. "Contact our allies in the Canadian military and NATO and give them the same information! Launch the Aerialbots and set up a patrol around the Ark!"  
Sunstreaker glared at Prowl. "We have to send help!" he growled.  
"No," Prowl said, shaking his helm. "We can't strain our resources out here. This could be a distraction, a means to attack the Ark while we're occupied on a rescue mission. By the time we managed to fly to them to render aid, the battle would be long over. Our allies are in the best position to help the others." Prowl's optics burned into Sunstreaker as he stepped closer. "Don't think I don't know that it hurts," he growled.  
Sunstreaker glowered back at Prowl, but said nothing.

*** 

Jazz dove down in the snow, scampering around the edge of a boulder with Mirage. His shoulder burned, the sting of a laser blast searing his plating. "I think the Decepticons found us!" Mirage shouted over the sounds of incoming laser and rocket fire.  
"Where's Smokescreen?" Jazz shouted.  
"Here!" Smokescreen waved from behind a copse of trees, then fired up toward the sky. The Seekers were screaming overhead, crisscrossing the sky and burning the ground with rockets and laser fire.  
"Sideswipe?" Jazz shouted, pulling out his rifle and charging it up as Mirage joined Smokescreen's cover fire.  
"He never made it out of Skyfire before the attack!" Smokescreen shouted back.  
Jazz grimaced and glanced back up the hill. Skyfire had been hit first, and a gaping hole burned through his midsection. Debris was scattered around the snowy hillside, and Skyfire wasn't responding to any comm messages. "Keep trying to get Sideswipe on the comm!" Jazz shouted as he pushed up over the boulder, aiming to the sky and at the Seekers.  
A fractured comm message broke through the chaos. "Autobots, Autobots, this is the Forces armées canadienne. We're approaching your position and will be there in ten minutes."  
"Reinforcements incoming!" Jazz shouted.

***

Down the hillside, Sideswipe dazedly pushed himself to his feet. He had been thrown from Skyfire as the Seekers' rockets slammed into the shuttle's body and tossed clean as Skyfire's hold exploded. Shrapnel flew with him, knocking him around, and he hit the snow hard before he rolled down the mountainside. Dimly, and muffled with the force of his damaged processor, Sideswipe heard the sounds of a far-off battle. He tried to turn toward the sounds, but he couldn't find it, couldn't pinpoint the noises racing through the fog in his helm. Whooshing pressures burned throughout his body, and Sideswipe collapsed to his knees, groaning in pain.

***

"I see Sideswipe!" Smokescreen shouted. "He's down the mountain!"  
"Where?" Jazz couldn't see him.  
"Past the Seeker fire!" Smokescreen shouted. "Cover me! He's exposed! I'm going to get him!"  
"Smokescreen, wait!" Jazz shouted, but it was too late. Smokescreen had already transformed and spun off, snow screaming out from behind his tires as he tore off into the thick of the battle. The Seekers instantly zoned in on Smokescreen, peppering his snowy path with thudding laser fire. Smokescreen spewed out black smoke instantly, covering and obscuring his tracks. He skidded down the hillside, losing traction on the snow and ice. He transformed, trying to grip into the snowy hillside with his hands as he slid past Sideswipe's crumpled form.  
"Sideswipe!" Smokescreen shouted. "Get down!"  
Sideswipe groaned, his processor burning, but he dimly registered someone calling his name. His optics flickered as he tried to turn his helm toward the noise, but again, his processor shrieked out in pain. Laser fire whomped into the snow around his body, and Sideswipe collapsed down, trying to bury himself for cover.  
Smokescreen clambered back up the hillside, firing into the sky at the Seekers as he belted out a thick curtain of black smoke. Just before the smoke closed in overhead, Smokescreen heard the heavy _thwap-thwap_ of a helicopter incoming, and then the shriek of a human rocket launched from an attack chopper. The Seekers scattered, reforming to take on the human reinforcements.  
Smokescreen turned his attentions back to Sideswipe and he carefully pulled the red twin from the snow.  
Sideswipe groaned again, his optics unfocused, and Smokescreen saw the worst of Sideswipe's damage. A piece of Skyfire's hull plating had shredded Sideswipe's backplates, digging into the cables and lines running down his neck. Energon oozed out, dripping down his cables and onto his plating, and his lines were sparking with the depth of his damages.  
Smokescreen cursed. "Smokescreen to Jazz!"  
"Jazz here. What's going on? Did you get Sideswipe?"  
"Yeah, but he's in a lot of pain, Jazz," Smokescreen said. "We've got to get him out of here. He's got some heavy damage."  
"Working on it!"  
Heat burst overhead, a too-close boom shaking Smokescreen's bolts, and one of the Canadian helicopters exploded, streaking the sky with burning debris. "Frag!" Jazz shouted into the commlink. "Decepticon reinforcements have come to the party!"  
Smokescreen cursed again. He glanced down the mountainside. There was a gully leading to a sheltered ravine and a closed overhang of rocks, almost completely tucked out of sight. He could hide them both down there, buried under the winter isolation, and the cold-packed snow would mask their heat signatures if they turned them down enough. "Jazz, get out of here!" Smokescreen shouted.  
"Frag no! Not without you two!"  
"Take the egress the Canadian's have provided!" Smokescreen shouted back. "You need to get out of here. The Canadians are no match for the entire Decepticon air force."  
"What about you and Sideswipe?"  
"We can hold out for a bit. There's a hiding place down here. Come back for us. Get Prime and Ratchet." Smokescreen shifted Sideswipe, nearly offline, against his body, holding his back to his chest. "Go!" he shouted, just before he began sliding downhill slowly, letting the snow and ice carry their fall.  
The battle faded away, the Seekers chasing the Autobots and humans as they pulled back. Finally, Smokescreen fell through the emptiness of the top of the gully and pulled Sideswipe close to catch the brunt of the fall. Sideswipe collapsed on top of him and Smokescreen rolled them both, then hefted Sideswipe's arm around his shoulder. He dragged him down the ravine until they were tucked out of sight, buried from view in the darkness.  
Sighing, Smokescreen carefully set Sideswipe down against the granite wall, looking the red twin over. Sideswipe slumped forward, totally offline, and Smokescreen stared into his face for a long moment. "Great job, Smokey," he murmured, pulling out his med kit. "Great job."

***

"What do you mean they were left behind?!"  
Bluestreak and Sunstreaker bellowed the same line at the same time, pitch perfect and exactly together as they stood on opposite sides of the Command Deck, listening to the mission brief from a pissed-looking Jazz. Prime and Ironhide were on the third feed, listening in as they flew up from DC with Ratchet in one of Wheeljack's new shuttles. Most of the Ark crew was crowded onto the Command Deck, watching with Prowl and the Command Team and waiting for information on their crewmates.  
"The Seekers outnumbered us, and the Canadians were taking heavy damage," Jazz explained. "Smokescreen indicated they had a space they could hide out in, and we couldn't mount a rescue mission at that time. We're going back for them now."  
"With reinforcements," Ironhide growled, leaning in over Prime's shoulder.  
Ratchet frowned and pushed in alongside Ironhide. "Jazz, what kind of damage did you see in Skyfire?"  
Jazz frowned deeply. "He took a direct hit, Ratchet. Big smoking hole in his midsection. We couldn't raise him on the comms."  
Hushed voices murmured around the deck. Ratchet nodded and faded back from Prime's vidfeed while Prime took over. "We'll be in your area in three hours, Jazz. Send Mirage in. I want to know as much intel as possible before we get there." Jazz nodded, and Mirage, standing behind Jazz, nodded as well. Off screen, someone handed Mirage two cubes of energon, and Mirage passed one to Jazz, who began gulping it down quickly. Mirage drank at a more sedate pace, though he too looked drained.  
Prowl spoke next. "Prime, you'll be joined by the 10th Mountain Division out of Fort Drum as you head north. The Canadians agreed to accept the US Army's assistance, and they are deploying as we speak."  
"Good work, Prowl," Prime said. "How many combat teams?"  
Prowl shook his helm. "The entire division, Prime. Every combat team."  
Silently, Jazz smirked on his end of the comm feed. Prime, for his part, looked slightly taken aback at the show of force Prowl had rallied in such short notice. "Excellent," Prime said a moment later. "If we've got the Deception's cornered, then we need to take advantage of that. Good work."  
The comms bantered back and forth, but Sunstreaker had no patience for the talk. His systems were fuming, raging, and all he could think about was Sideswipe, hurt and wounded and lost on the mountainside… with only Smokescreen to help him. Sunstreaker turned and pushed his way to the back of the Command Deck, glowering at everyone. He glanced back, and caught sight of Bluestreak staring back at him, a dark and ugly look stretched over his faceplates.  
Sunstreaker swallowed and left the Command Deck. He needed to get back to Prowler.

***

Slowly, and very painfully, Sideswipe onlined. The world was dark, and his optics were flickering with poor input. His processor was still screaming, still screeching, and he groaned as he regained full consciousness.  
"Easy there," Smokescreen said, steadying Sideswipe's shoulder. "You're online now, so I'm going to give you some pain meds, alright?"  
Sideswipe swallowed, trying to nod, but the pain suddenly burst throughout his neck and processor, and he winced instead.  
"Don't move," Smokescreen cautioned, just as he pumped a syringe full of pain deadeners into Sideswipe's lines. "You're neck is torn up. You need to stay still."  
Sideswipe sighed as the relief flooded through him, killing all sensation. Smokescreen hadn't held back any of the pain meds, and Sideswipe could feel the effects immediately. He grinned as he slumped backward, then reached out for Smokescreen's hand. "Thanks," he whispered, squeezing down. He tried to focus on Smokescreen's face. "You didn't need to save me." His thumb stroked over Smokescreen's palm.  
Smokescreen froze, then slowly pulled his hand out of Sideswipe's grip. He tucked the empty syringe away. "Yes I did," he said softly. "I wasn't going to leave you there."  
"Still…" Sideswipe grinned again, the effects of the meds hitting him hard. "Thanks."  
Smokescreen frowned at Sideswipe. "You okay?"  
Sideswipe's grin turned to a chuckle. "I'm really sensitive to the pain meds," he whispered, as if sharing a secret. "Makes me kind of goofy."  
"Oh, great," Smokescreen sighed, shifting back to rest on his heels. He scooted away with a deep exhale, shaking his helm.  
"And talkative," Sideswipe added. "You could probably ask me anything, you know."  
Smokescreen stared at Sideswipe, his optic ridges arched high. There were, simultaneously, a thousand questions he wanted to ask, and absolutely none as well. He shifted again, leaning back against the opposite rock wall with his arms crossed over his chestplates.  
Sideswipe continued to babble on. "You know who's going to be really pissed off though? And I mean really pissed off? Sunstreaker." Sideswipe giggled guiltily. "You shouldn't have given me those pain meds. It kills our twin bond, you know." He stared across at Smokescreen. "That's why we're always with each other in the medbay. We can't tell if the other one is okay."  
Smokescreen frowned, looking away. This was the last thing he wanted, Sideswipe babbling about Sunstreaker.  
"He's going to be pissed…" Sideswipe said, his voice drifting away. "Especially 'cause it's you, you know," he said again, trying to point at Smokescreen. He hissed, dropping his arm.  
"Don't move," Smokescreen barked. "I don't want to give you back to your brother any more broken than you are," he grumbled.  
"Sorry," Sideswipe said, shifting as he winced. "Sorry, I know I'm babbling. I can't stop it. I'm sorry."  
Smokescreen sighed, turning to stare at Sideswipe. Sideswipe's expression was one of pain, his optics bright and unfocused, and his helm was tilted away from his damaged neck. "It's okay," Smokescreen grumbled. "Just… let me know if things get really painful."  
"'Kay," Sideswipe said, shifting again. He tried to stay silent, but he started humming tunelessly, his optics fading in and out.  
Cursing himself inside, Smokescreen finally turned to Sideswipe. He'd never get another chance at this again. "Sideswipe…" he began. Sideswipe turned to try to stare at him, but his optics were still dazed and unfocused. "Why Sunstreaker? Why are you with him? He's your brother."  
Sideswipe sighed, his helm resting back against the rock wall. "Smokey…" he said softly. "Primus, how can I explain it? He's… he's everything that's a part of me. He's the other half of me." Sideswipe swallowed, his throat rising and falling. "I fell in love with him when I was young, and we just…" Sideswipe's voice trailed off. "It was an accident, you know. Our getting together."  
"You mean Prowler?"  
Sideswipe tried to shake his helm, but winced again. "Well, he was an accident, yes. But I mean, back on Cybertron. One day we kissed, and then we were fragging, and everything happened so fast…" Sideswipe sighed. "We wanted the world, but didn't know enough to manage the next day." Sideswipe trailed off again, and Smokescreen knew Sideswipe wasn't talking to him anymore.  
"But why Sunstreaker? He's so…" Smokescreen frowned.  
"Sullen? Mulish? A fragger?" Sideswipe offered. Smokescreen nodded slowly, thinking all that and more. Sideswipe chuckled softly. "He's quiet, and he feels more intensely than any mech I've ever met."  
"He doesn't have any feelings!" Smokescreen grunted.  
"Oh, he does. They're almost too strong… like mine." Sideswipe said softly. "He's had so much pain in his life… But, when you tease out a smile… When you make him laugh… When he just looks at you, and you know that you can make him feel so special…" Sideswipe sighed again. "I love him, Smokey," Sideswipe said, falling back to his old nickname for Smokescreen. "I love him so much."  
Smokescreen frowned and shifted uncomfortably. "Why did you ever start anything with me, Sideswipe? If you loved him so much, then why did you leave? Why did you hurt us both?"  
Sideswipe grimaced, the pain this time entirely internal. "Smokey… we never were able to tell each other how we felt. We thought… I thought…" Sideswipe tried to wave his hand through the air, but winced again. "I thought I was just being a fragger. Forcing my brother to 'face…"  
Smokescreen frowned. "Doesn't he want to be with you too?"  
Sideswipe smiled, but there was no warmth to his expression. "I… hope so," he said quietly. He swallowed. "I tried to love other mechs, you know… It's not like I want to be like this... I tried to love you." Sideswipe glanced toward Smokescreen carefully, his optics fading.  
Smokescreen froze at Sideswipe's words. They had never spoken about their relationship and he didn't know if he was ready to hear that Sideswipe had wanted to love him. He stared back, his optics cold.  
Sideswipe's optics faded, and he tried to shift away from the pain. It only grew, however, and he hissed again. "I don't think I want to talk anymore," Sideswipe said softly.  
Smokescreen stared at Sideswipe as he offlined his optics and stiffened up, his breaths ragged and panting as the pain in his neck slowly beat back the peak of the pain meds. Sighing, Smokescreen shifted as well, settling in for the long wait for Jazz's rescue.

***

In the end, the rescue was anti-climactic. The Decepticons had high-tailed it out of the area almost as soon as the battle ended, and aside from the battle damage, there was almost no evidence of their presence left. The 10th Mountain soldiers spread out over the mountainside, conducting sweep after sweep, but only a few sets of heavy, mech-sized footprints were discovered.  
Ratchet headed straight for Skyfire, but emerged not long after with a grim pronouncement. The Army agreed to airlift him off the mountain and back to Fort Drum, where Ratchet could get to work on making full repairs, but for the time being, Skyfire was offline. Jazz, meanwhile, headed down the mountain searching for Smokescreen and Sideswipe. He and Mirage pulled them out of the gully, then carefully helped Sideswipe up the hillside to Prime's shuttle. Afterward, Prime, Ironhide and Ratchet all stayed with Skyfire at Fort Drum while Jazz piloted their shuttle back to the Ark, Mirage, Smokescreen and Sideswipe tucked in the back.  
Sideswipe spent most of the trip offline, while Mirage recharged and Smokescreen gently watched over Sideswipe, deep in thought. At some point, he started cleaning Sideswipe's plating with a soft rag, wiping away the snow melt and dirt and the grime of the battle.  
Jazz comm'd Prowl halfway through the flight. He was sipping on another cube, gifted from Prime for their journey home. They had a small mountain in the back, and all four of them had sucked down at least two cubes. Jazz was on his third. He and Prowl chatted back and forth idly, discussing the battle and the rescue for a few minutes.  
"We managed to figure out which databases the Decepticons hacked," Prowl finally said.  
"Oh?" Jazz propped his feet up on the control panel again, letting the auto pilot navigate for him.  
"The Tactical Technology Office and the Strategic Technology Office."  
Jazz frowned. "What's all that for?"  
"Unknown. The humans aren't saying. They say it's strictly classified."  
"Classified? We're their allies."  
"I know." Prowl frowned. "Prime is working on trying to pressure the government to share the contents of the databases with us. We can't fight what the Decepticons are planning if we don't have the same intelligence."  
"Agreed," Jazz said. He glanced at his nav board. "Well, looks like we're going to be arriving in about an hour, Prowl." He smiled softly. "Meet you at the back hanger?"  
"I'll be there," Prowl said. "See you soon."

***

Sunstreaker was a bundle of ragged wires and twisted circuits, all wrapped around an angry ball of frustration as he waited at the hanger bay entrance. The shuttle was landing, and he could see Jazz at the controls, powering down the shuttle as the landing ramp extended. First Aid was ready and waiting with a gurney, and in front of Sunstreaker, Bluestreak, Hound, and Prowl all waited as well. Sunstreaker hung back, holding a recharging Prowler close and wrapped up in his blankets.

The other mechs were already heading down the landing ramp. Sideswipe was hobbling down with Smokescreen, one arm slung around Smokescreen's shoulders, and the other held steady by Mirage.

Sunstreaker's optics zeroed in instantly on Smokescreen. His spark plummeted, his rage spiked, and his vision narrowed until all he could see were Smokescreen's hands on his brother's plating and Smokescreen's plating brushing too-close to Sideswipe's body. Ice settled over his spark, finite and cold.

First Aid gestured for Sideswipe to be laid down on the gurney, with Smokescreen's help. Sideswipe smiled up at Smokescreen, smiling his thanks, and then First Aid began rolling him away. Smokescreen's optics rose to follow the path backward and he met Sunstreaker's burning, enraged gaze. Smokescreen looked away, this time to Bluestreak, but Bluestreak wasn't any happier with him.

First Aid wheeled Sideswipe to Sunstreaker, then stopped. Sideswipe smiled up at Sunstreaker tiredly. "Hey Sunny," he whispered. "I'm home."

Sunstreaker glowered down at Sideswipe, his face contorting into an ugly expression. Between Sideswipe's injuries, the attack, Smokescreen's hands all over Sideswipe, and Sunstreaker's sure knowledge that Sideswipe was going to leave him again, he didn't see anything to smile over. Sideswipe frowned, hurt confusion spreading out over his features. He tried to reach for Sunstreaker, but Sunstreaker refused to reach back.

"I'm going to have to call for Wheeljack," First Aid said softly. "I can't take care of this damage by myself." Sunstreaker glanced across to First Aid and nodded curtly before First Aid wheeled Sideswipe off the hanger deck. Sunstreaker turned and watched them go, hanging back as his spark lurched.

Smokescreen watched it all, standing next to Bluestreak. "Fragger doesn't even care," Bluestreak murmured.

 ***

Prowl and Jazz shared a look through the shuttle's windscreen, smiling at each other before Jazz finished the shut down sequence and hopped out of his seat. He headed down the ramp, and, grinning wide, headed straight for Prowl. Prowl smiled back, staring Jazz up and down. "I'm glad you're home," Prowl said softly. He frowned at Jazz's shoulder. "You're damaged."

"It's just a little laser shot." Jazz reached out and placed his hand on Prowl's backplates as they turned to head out of the hanger behind Bluestreak and Smokescreen. "I'm glad to be back, too."

"'Just a little laser shot?'" Prowl echoed. "Come on, we're going to the medbay." Jazz grinned and followed Prowl. "But… I had a better idea of where to go," he teased softly.

Prowl smiled sidelong at him. "That's after you're healed," he said, his doorwings flickering. Still, Prowl grinned, and he relaxed into the one-armed hold Jazz had around his waist.

When they finally arrived at the medbay, Wheeljack was already looking Sideswipe over, though his expression was grim. Sunstreaker hovered nearby, anger and concern warring for dominance over his expression. Sideswipe was unnaturally quiet, subdued on the medberth as his optics stared up at Sunstreaker.

Wheeljack pointed out several junctions for First Aid on the terminal screen, showing him where to start his scans to figure out the full extent of Sideswipe's damage. First Aid nodded and pulled his equipment while Sunstreaker perched himself on the nearby medberth.

"Sunny?" Sideswipe whispered, not able to see his brother.

"I'm here," Sunstreaker choked out.

Wheeljack headed across the medbay toward Jazz and Prowl. Jazz was leaning back against a medberth, his arms crossed over his chestplates causally and chatting with Prowl, who stood behind him on the other side of the berth. "Do you have a cube on you?" Jazz asked Prowl as Wheeljack drew near. "I'm still low on energy. That snow really took a lot out of me."

Prowl nodded and pulled out a half-finished cube from earlier. Wheeljack flashed a hello with his audial fins as he stood beside the two, then glanced at Jazz's shoulder. "Laser shot?" he asked.

Jazz nodded, sipping at the energon. "I was waving at the Seekers, but I guess they didn't want to say hello," he said, grinning.

Wheeljack flashed his audial fins, but didn't laugh. He reached for the solvent and welder beneath the berth, first cleaning Jazz's plating of the scorch marks and the energon, then slowly welding the plating back together.

"You could have left it, 'Jack," Jazz teased again. "It'd be a great scar to get sympathy from." He turned and flashed a grin to Prowl.

Prowl snorted, one hand stroking Jazz's backplates unseen. "You already get 'sympathy,' Jazz."

"Oh?" Jazz grinned again, waggling his optic ridges beneath his visor. Prowl grinned back, letting his hand linger over Jazz's plating.

Wheeljack ignored their antics. His processor flashed back to Ratchet. He and Ratchet used to tease each other like that, that interplay back and forth, usually mixed with Ratchet's grumpy moods and irascible temper. Teasing Ratchet back from the edge had been one of Wheeljack's specialties. He swallowed and stood, done with his welding.

Jazz started to push himself up, but Wheeljack pushed his shoulder back down. "Not just yet, Jazz. I'm going to run a quick scan, make sure everything else is alright."

Jazz shrugged, leaning back against the medberth again as he took a drag from Prowl's energon cube, and then leaned his neck forward, exposing his medical access port. Wheeljack plugged a wireless scanning chip into Jazz's neck, synching the signals between the chip and the medberth terminal. Jazz's medical information began flowing across the link, and his physical profile was instantly displayed as a 3D medical scan, the outline of his body rotating on the terminal screen with different systems highlighted in need of attention.

There was one large alert, one blaring notice scrolling across the bottom of Jazz's profile, impossible to miss: "Sparkling health status: Good. Gestation period: Primary. Full Exam Recommended."

Wheeljack's optics blazed with shock, and Jazz dropped the cube in his hand. It clattered to the deck as Prowl's doorwings shot straight up, ramrod straight and lightning stiff. Wheeljack turned back to Jazz, his audial fins blaring white-bright.

"Jazz…" he stammered, stunned. "You're sparked!"

 


	6. Chapter 6

The entire medbay was silent. Wheeljack's audial fins stayed brilliantly illuminated, broadcasting his shock and surprise for all to see. Across the bay, Sunstreaker's helm turned, staring at the trio with a confused frown on his face. He hadn't heard the words, but the exclamation of surprise had caught his attention.  
"Wha…what?" Prowl whispered, his doorwings quivering.  
"Jazz, you're sparked!" Wheeljack repeated automatically.  
"Keep it down!" Jazz hissed, his visor flashing. He glared at Wheeljack, then pawed at his neck junction, hastily ripping out the medical scanner and transmitter. "That isn't possible," he scoffed.  
Wheeljack's audial fins flashed once more before he spoke. "Wellll…" he said, drawing out the word, "It is possible if you two are interfacing, and you two are interfacing, so…"  
"Not like that," Jazz growled.  
Wheeljack shifted on his feet, uncertain. "Do you have a functioning ground?" he asked Jazz.  
Jazz cast a murderous glare Wheeljack's way. "I have no need for one," he ground out through clenched denta. "I've never…" He swallowed roughly, looking away.  
Prowl was still wildly dazed, almost knocked off balance. "It was just that one time…" he said softly, almost a whisper  
"You guys have some great luck," Wheeljack snorted. "It's rare, but even with once, it can happen."  
Twin expressions of surprise, one dark and angry, one as shocked as could be, twisted to stare back at Wheeljack. He didn't know what to say as his helm fins flashed once more.  
"I wrote some code," Jazz struggled to say. He wouldn't meet Wheeljack's optics, and his voice was still tight and heavy. "I wrote code to offline those parameters. I took those systems offline. There should have been no chance of this happening!"  
Helpless and unable to help Jazz, Wheeljack merely shrugged, then pointed back to the now-black monitor screen. "The scanner doesn't lie, Jazz," he said softly. _Ratchet would be so much better here!_ he thought. _He'd know what to do!_  
"Primus…" Prowl breathed, his voice finally beginning to sound normal again. It had lost that dreamy, otherworldly, static-filled quality. "Jazz," he whispered, stepping around the berth to look his partner in the optics. He reached out, trying to squeeze Jazz's hands. He smiled wide, an excited gasp falling from his mouth.  
Jazz stared back, his faceplates locked in an angry scowl. He refused to squeeze back on Prowl's hands. Prowl's smile faltered.  
"You're just over a month along," Wheeljack said, clearing his throat. He looked over the information downloaded to his data pad. "Your energy readings are pretty low, though. Haven't you been feeling any symptoms?"  
Grinding his denta together, Jazz growled back, "My energy is low because I've been on a mission for the past month. We've all been overextending ourselves. Check the others. They've got low energy readings, too."  
"Actually…" Wheeljack faltered as Jazz's glare intensified. "They don't," he said quickly. "How many cubes have you had today?"  
Jazz did the quick math. "Five," he spat out. He kicked at the fallen cube, the energon splattered on the floor. "Not including that one."  
Wheeljack whistled briefly. "That's the only thing that's keeping you going, then. Have you been taking in more energon than usual all month?"  
"I told you," Jazz growled again, "We were on a mission. It's normal to pull in extra energon, and normal to be low. There's no 'regular refueling' when you're dodging Decepticons!"  
"Jazz, you're low on energy because you're not supplementing. You need additives for your sparkling." Wheeljack shifted again, deeply uncomfortable with the entire conversation, and felt the full force of Jazz's anger directed toward him. "Your body is taking the extra energy you're giving it and trying to power your reproductive systems, but it's not working without the additives. So, it's starting to cannibalize your internals. Your frame. Parts of your engine. Your sparkling will leach from you what it needs, unless you supplement correctly."  
Jazz's tightly controlled anger bloomed to an expression of horrified wrath, and he glared murderously down at his abdomen. "What," he began, swallowing, "what are our options?"  
"Jazz!" Prowl's cry of outrage rang through the medbay, leaving the place perfectly silent in its wake.  
Wheeljack's audial fins flashed as he looked down at the decking. This was going to be a nightmare.  
Jazz twisted, turning his dark look to Prowl. "This isn't what I wanted," he grumbled.  
"We have to talk about this," Prowl whispered, his previous joyful and wondrous expression replaced by worry and pain. "We have to make a decision. Together," he emphasized.  
"It's not inside you," Jazz grumbled.  
"Let me get you some additives, Jazz," Wheeljack interrupted. He quickly escaped, moving to the stores along the bulkhead and rummaging for the additives Ratchet kept handy for Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. He'd have to synthesize a whole new batch now. They'd need to double the supplies. Wheeljack turned back, and his spark clenched at the completely lost look on Prowl's face as he stared at Jazz's profile.  
Slowly, he walked back to the berth, holding out a fistful of the tubules. "Here, add these to your energon rations. You'll be needing more energon…" He shied back as Jazz took the tubules with a snarl. "Just fuel up when you feel you need it," Wheeljack finished inelegantly.  
"Am I free to go?" Jazz growled.  
Wheeljack nodded, and he watched as Jazz pushed himself off the berth, studiously ignoring Prowl or his concerned gazes, and stalked out of the medbay. Prowl followed, his doorwings vibrating with tension and his optics filled with terrified uncertainty.  
_Ratchet, I wish you were here_ , Wheeljack thought sadly. _You'd know what to do._

***

Sideswipe had to stay for the rest of the night as his processor was scanned and the data flow along his damaged pathways and fibers was mapped. It was a long process, and he had to remain flat on his back, completely immobile, throughout the entire procedure. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and as First Aid's hand moved over his plating, attaching wires and cables and puttering about to set up the readings, Sideswipe dozed off, the beeps and sounds of the medbay lulling him to recharge.  
He woke several hours later, very early in the morning. His scans were just over halfway done. He shifted, swallowing, still caught in the sleepiness of half-recharge.  
"What's wrong?" Sunstreaker grunted, his voice deep and choking on his own recharge.  
Sideswipe twisted his helm, rolling his optics sideways. There on the berth next to him was Sunstreaker, slouching backwards against the bulkhead, looking exhausted and half-out of recharge, and holding their deeply recharging sparkling in his arms. Prowler was bundled up, a peaceful, serene expression on his faceplates as he nuzzled his cheek against Sunstreaker's chestplates. Sideswipe tried to smile, though even that hurt, and instead he inhaled a tiny gasp through his nose. "Didn't think you were here," Sideswipe whispered.  
Sunstreaker frowned. "What's wrong?" he asked again. "You should be recharging."  
Sideswipe rolled his helm back flat on the berth, sighing as the pain started to make itself known once more. "Nothing, Sunny," he whispered again. "It just hurts."  
Sunstreaker's frown deepened, but he said nothing. He stared at Sideswipe's profile for a long moment, then looked away, swallowing. Silence descended over the medbay.  
Sideswipe glanced back at Sunstreaker, finally catching sight of his dark optics and sullen frown. "Sunny?" Sunstreaker didn't turn to look back at him. "Are you mad at me?" Sideswipe whispered.  
Exhaling, Sunstreaker's frown turned to a scowl, though he still refused to look at Sideswipe. Silence filled the bay again, and Sideswipe watched as Sunstreaker's jaw clenched and unclenched. Finally, Sunstreaker spoke, grumbling, "Did you have fun with him?"  
"Who?" Sideswipe frowned, confused. Sunstreaker rolled his helm to his brother, casting him a long, pointed glare with cold optics. "Smokescreen?" Sideswipe asked hesitantly. Sunstreaker instantly looked away, his scowl returning full-force.  
Sideswipe sighed and tried to reach for his brother. His hand wouldn't move, though, and the attempt hurt badly. He hissed, then panted at the explosion of pain. "We didn't…" he tried to say. "We didn't have anything to do with each other, Sunny," he said carefully, speaking around the pain.  
"I saw you two together," Sunstreaker growled. "You were smiling at him."  
Sideswipe frowned. "Sunny… he saved my life. He came to rescue me when the Decepticons attacked."  
"Thought you just said you had nothing to do with each other." Sunstreaker snapped.  
"We didn't!" Sideswipe cried. "We didn't even look at each other the entire mission. But when I was hurt, he came to save me."  
"His hands were all over you in the hanger bay!"  
"He was helping me onto the gurney!"  
"Does he want you back? Does he want you to frag him again?"  
"Sunny!" Sideswipe gasped, the argument sending his processor to heights it wasn't ready for yet. "Doesn't matter if he does, that's not happening."  
"Well, does he?"  
"I don't know!"  
"Do you?" Sunstreaker's voice was deep and ragged, full of anger. Prowler was stirring in his arms, a disturbed frown on his sleepy features. "You didn't seem to mind his hands pawing all over you."  
"Of course not!" Sideswipe cried, then hissed as the pain flared all down his neck. "Primus, Sunstreaker." Sideswipe whimpered. "Smokescreen saved my life. Would you rather he didn't?"  
Sunstreaker swallowed and looked down to Prowler. He patted his sparkling's backplates, trying to sooth him back to recharge as silence filled the medbay again. Sideswipe was panting, pained and exhausted, both physically and mentally. "I don't want you to have anything to do with him," Sunstreaker finally growled.  
"Sunny…" Sideswipe sighed. "That's difficult. He's on the crew, and I'm on the Command Staff. How can I avoid him?"  
"I don't care," Sunstreaker growled. "I don't fragging care. I just don't want you to have anything to do with him." Sideswipe sighed again, exasperation slipping into his frame. Sunstreaker caught it, and his optics narrowed dangerously. "Does that inconvenience you?" he hissed. "Cramp your flirting style?"  
This time, Sideswipe didn't answer. Instead he frowned, glaring back at Sunstreaker.  
"You left me for him!" Sunstreaker finally exploded, hissing loudly through the medbay. "You left me for him. Am I supposed to fine with you befriending him again?"  
"I didn't leave you for him!" Sideswipe protested. "I… didn't," he finished lamely. Sunstreaker's scowl did not diminish. Sideswipe huffed. "What do you think is happening, Sunstreaker? That I'm trying to seduce him?"  
"It wouldn't be the first time," Sunstreaker spat.  
Anger burst out of Sideswipe's spark, finally pushing past his pain. "How many times do I have to tell you I love you, Sunstreaker?" Sideswipe wailed. "How many times do I have to tell you that you are the only mech I love? The only mech I want? Why won't you listen to me?" He gasped, frustrated and pissed, and his optics blazed with the force of his emotions.  
Sunstreaker's words, then they finally came, were ice cold and sharp. "You told me you loved me once before. I remember it well. Right after, I watched you parade mechs in and out of your berth, and you were happy to do so. You'll have to forgive me if I can't just _'listen to you,'_ Sideswipe."  
Sideswipe's expression twisted bitterly and he tried to swallow against the lump of anger lodged in his throat. There was his past, rising to damn him once more. He'd always be chained to it, no matter what. Finally he sighed, an explosion of air bursting from his vents, painfully. "Is this what you need, then? To know that I love you? Not speaking to Smokescreen?"  
Sunstreaker nodded.  
Sideswipe sighed again, then offlined his optics. "Fine," he said tiredly. "Whatever it takes to prove to you that I love you." His words were defeated, lacking any power.  
Sunstreaker glared at Sideswipe, staring at his offline optics. _Don't make it sound so painful_ , he thought bitterly. _Sorry I'm taking you from the mech you really want to be with._ He stared at Sideswipe in silence, watching as his brother fell into an exhausted recharge once again, and his thoughts spun on darkly. His processor replayed the scene of Smokescreen, hands on Sideswipe's plating – all over his plating! –smiling down at him… and Sideswipe's smile back, happy and relaxed. _Sideswipe doesn't look at me like that,_ he thought sullenly.

***

Jazz counted down the minutes left in the night shift, knowing there wasn't a lick of recharge coming for him. He sighed and shifted, slightly, careful not to wake Prowl beside him.  
He turned at stared down at Prowl's recharging faceplates. A small frown was creasing his forehead, his lips turned down at the edges, and Prowl's arms wound around Jazz's waist tightly, holding him close. Jazz sighed. This wasn't how he planned on their reunion going after over a month's separation. He'd hoped for a hot horizontal pounding, gasping and moaning, and possibly hearing Prowl's declarations of love again. He'd wanted to see Prowl smile again, laugh, reach for him with those gentle hands. He'd wanted to know that Prowl still loved him, after all their time apart. His own feelings had taken him by surprise out there, and he had hoped Prowl felt the same longing.  
Instead, everything had fallen apart.  
Jazz sighed again, this time angrily as he remembered his and Prowl's argument from earlier. Primus, what was he going to do? This was the last thing, the absolute very last thing that he'd ever, ever wanted. He never wanted to carry a sparkling. He never wanted to be sparked. Only just recently he'd begun to imagine sparking another, perhaps Prowl one day, but even those fantasies were distant and shaded in 'maybe.'  
It had been a long and tense walk back to Prowl's quarters, where they both had headed by some unspoken agreement. They never went to Jazz's quarters, ever. "Jazz…" Prowl breathed, just after they both walked in. Jazz had headed straight for the couch, collapsing in a heap as he propped his elbow up and covered his visor with his hand, rubbing his forehead.  
Jazz didn't remove his hand. "What, Prowl?"  
Prowl had remained silent for a long time. "I didn't think this would happen," he finally said. "We happened so… fast, and … I just assumed that you would have… been prepared."  
Jazz frowned deeply beneath his hand. "I was," he growled. "I offlined those systems years ago."  
"We are stronger than any code we can write," Prowl said softly. "Our body always overrides coding when it comes into conflict." That had been true for forever, and had been a constant source of frustration for Ratchet, butting up against Jazz over the years, who delighted in coding new parameters to his body and his endurance. Ultimately, some of them backfired, and Ratchet had had to clean it up. "You know that," Prowl said.  
Jazz refused to answer him. Prowl finally sighed and uprooted himself from the spot of decking he had frozen himself to. He sank down to the low table before the couch. Jazz didn't move. Prowl reached out, resting his hand on Jazz's knee. "Jazz… This can't be that bad?" His joy was small now, beaten back by worry, but still alighting his spark in tiny ways.  
Lowering his hand, Jazz stared back at Prowl. "This is terrible, Prowl," he said slowly. "We can't do this."  
Prowl's optics blazed. "Of course we can." he whispered. "What's the alternative?"  
Jazz stared hard at Prowl.  
"No," Prowl mouthed. "Please… Jazz. No." He shook his helm, his expression crumbling. "We can figure this out." He swallowed painfully. "Why is this so terrible?"  
"This is the worst time to bring a sparkling into the world, Prowl." Jazz snapped. "The Decepticons are back. They're gaining strength. The war is starting again." He shook his helm. "Look at Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Look how much they're struggling. Sideswipe could barely function out there, he missed them so much."  
"I told you not to bring him," Prowl interrupted.  
Jazz's optics blazed. "Is that the solution? Cut our forces in half? Let everyone who doesn't want to fight, who just wants to 'face and make sparklings relax back at base? We barely won last time, and that was only because we got the humans up to some semblance of combat-readiness against the 'Cons. What happens if half our mechs just decide they don't want to fight?"  
"We're not talking about the Autobots, Jazz," Prowl tried to reason. "We're talking about us. I am sure that we can figure this out. Together."  
Jazz snorted, exasperated. "You keep saying we're 'together' in this, Prowl. We're not 'together' in carrying a sparkling. It's me. Me. I'm the one carrying. And I never wanted to do this."  
Prowl's optics were burning, nearly white bright. "There are so many things we don't expect in life…" he began.  
"Please!" Jazz cried, tossing his hands into the air. "Spare me the pep talk!"  
"Jazz!" Prowl sighed. "We made a mistake. We got carried away. But… we can figure this out. Please. Toegther."  
"I never wanted this," Jazz growled again. He never wanted his life to change. He liked his life, fast-paced, full of light and sound and color and fun, and he'd just made a monumental shift in devoting himself to Prowl. This was too much, way too much, too much change, too much commitment. Everything was spinning out of control, and everything he valued, everything he held dear – his freedom, his fun, his adventure – was slipping away.  
Prowl's expression crumbled as he stared down at the decking. Despite his anger, Jazz's spark twinged at the bare pain rolling off of Prowl's frame. His doorwings were slouching, drooping low on his backplates. "Primus, Prowl," he said softly. "This isn't the time… Or the mech," he added.  
Prowl shook his helm, looking up slowly. "We don't get to choose that, Jazz. Presuming we can…" He trailed off and looked away.  
"Prowl, what do you want me to do?"  
Prowl stared at Jazz, the answer obvious. He wanted their sparkling. Something he didn't think was possible had happened, and though it wasn't the way he had imagined, that didn't take away from the power or the majesty. They had created life. For the second time, new life had been created in their ranks, and that was incredible.  
Jazz sighed heavily, laying his hand over his optics once more. He frowned, squeezing down on his temples as his visor dimmed. "I can't make any promises, Prowl," he grunted. "I don't want this. Can't you understand that?"  
"I just want to be able to talk this through with you. Really investigate this opportunity." Prowl's optics were burning.  
Jazz stayed quiet, and the silence stretched out, oppressive. Finally, Jazz shifted again, his legs falling open, and he sighed tiredly.  
"You must be tired," Prowl whispered.  
"Exhausted."  
"Stay?" Prowl's optics pleaded. "I have missed you." He smiled, though it was tinged with sadness.  
Jazz tried to smile as well, though it came out as a grimace. "I missed you too," he croaked. "I just didn't expect… this." His hand waved through the air listlessly.  
"I know. Let's just… recharge. Think about it some more." Prowl held his hand out to Jazz.  
Jazz had nodded, and they both collapsed into the berth, exhausted. Prowl instantly rested his helm on Jazz's chestplates and wrapped his arms around Jazz's waist. Jazz had tensed, waiting for Prowl to rest his hand over his abdomen, but Prowl, thankfully, refrained.  
It took everything in Prowl's being to do so.  
Prowl slipped into recharge fairly quickly, still holding Jazz tight, but Jazz remained stubbornly online, his thoughts racing. _This is exactly what I feared,_ he thought petulantly. _The 'sparkling' word, and our interfacing goes right out the hatch!_ He was exhausted, yes, but he hadn't been with Prowl in over a month. The night was supposed to have gone so very differently.  
Jazz sighed again, his thoughts swirling around themselves all night long. It was five in the morning, and he was no closer to recharge than hours before. His tanks were churning now, and he was very uncomfortably reminded of his sparked status by his sudden craving for energon.  
Gingerly, careful to not wake Prowl, Jazz extricated himself from the berth and wandered to Prowl's couch. He unsubspaced the additive tubes and spread them out over the table. His tanks churned again, and, sighing, Jazz moved to Prowl's shelves and pulled down one of his stored energon cubes. It wasn't fresh, but he didn't want to head to the Rec Room. Moving back to the table, Jazz sat with a tired groan, then popped open the tube of additives and slowly tipped the fine granules into his cube. It fizzled, then swirled together, and the energon turned to a deeper, darker magenta.  
Jazz lifted the cube to his visor, staring at the contents within. He peered at it closely, twisting the cube around. _What am I going to do?_ Jazz thought tiredly. He brought the cube to his lips slowly and took the first sip of his sparkling-fortified energon.  
It felt like a surrender.  
On the berth behind Jazz, Prowl's optics onlined, and he watched Jazz's defeated movements silently.

***

"Got a minute, Ratch'?" Ironhide grunted. He stood behind Ratchet in the Pentagon's hangar bay that had been specially equipped for their stay. Prime had already left for meetings with the Joint Chiefs, and Ironhide and Ratchet were left on their own for the morning.  
Ironhide rolled his shoulder, grimacing, as Ratchet turned around. "Your shoulder acting up again?" Ratchet grumbled  
Ironhide nodded. "Yeah," he grumbled. "Slaggin' cold is driving my gears to lock up."  
Ratchet motioned for Ironhide to sit on the bench before him as he pulled his medkit from his subspace. "Your cables are also in terrible shape," Ratchet grumbled. "You're not getting enough lubrication to this shoulder." He yanked on the cable to prove his point. It was dry and brittle beneath his touch.  
"Ratch'!" Ironhide hollered. "That slaggin' hurts!"  
"You need to lube up, Ironhide," he said, reaching for the lubricant in his kit. He pulled some out, then rubbed it into Ironhide's cables. "There's no shame in taking in lube, 'Hide."  
Ironhide grumbled, but relaxed under Ratchet's soothing touch. "But it means I'm old, Ratchet."  
Ratchet quirked a small smile as he kneaded the lube deep within Ironhide's joints. Ironhide groaned at the feeling. "Was that a secret?"  
"Listen, you young whippersnapper," Ironhide snapped, smiling. "I can still whip you into shape."  
Ratchet dug his fingers in deeper, and Ironhide moaned, letting his helm fall forward. "Sure you can, 'Hide."  
"Wheeljack is one lucky mech, Ratchet," Ironhide moaned again. "He's got access to these magic fingers all the time." He hissed, then rolled his helm to the side, urging Ratchet to continue his massage.  
Ratchet's spark plummeted at the mention of Wheeljack. What was he up to, back at the Ark? He'd have moved out by now, for sure. He was probably throwing himself into his lab work. He was probably working too hard, recharging too little, and spending all his time in the lab. Ratchet sighed.  
Wheeljack was probably not moping, not like Ratchet was. He couldn't get his processor off of his lover… ex-lover. How could Wheeljack have done this, torn them apart? They'd been together for years, through thick and thin, through ups and down, through the war and everything else. How could this now have torn them apart?  
Whatever had happened, Wheeljack had made up his mind, and Ratchet was well familiar with how stubborn his lover could be. That day, Ratchet's anger had spiked, warring with his frustration, and it was only after Wheeljack had left that Ratchet's feelings began to emerge from beneath his rage. Reality set in over the night, and then the next several days as he left the Ark and stayed with Prime.  
A month later, and still, the pain had yet to unclench from his spark.  
"Ratch'?" Ironhide's helm turned slightly, and he frowned at the silence that had taken over their hangar.  
"You need to do this every other day, 'Hide," Ratchet grumbled, pulling his fingers from Ironhide's shoulder and cables.  
"Ahh," Ironhide rolled his shoulder, grumbling good-naturedly. "Too bad I'm not Wheeljack." He turned to wink at Ratchet, but Ratchet wouldn't meet his gaze.

***

The bad news started midmorning. First Aid comm'd up to Prowl, asking him to head on down to the medbay.  
Prowl walked into a tense scene in the medbay. Sunstreaker juggled a wiggling Prowler as Sideswipe gingerly sat up from the medberth, leaning heavily on First Aid.  
"What's going on?" Prowl asked, frowning down at Sideswipe. "How are you feeling?"  
Sideswipe tried to smile as First Aid spoke. "He's not doing well, Prowl," he said simply. "Sideswipe has severe damage to his neural lines. His functionality is dramatically decreased, and he's in a fair amount of pain." Prowl's frown deepened, and Sideswipe stared down at the decking. "He's off duty, indefinitely."  
Prowl sighed, letting out a long exhale. "There isn't anything you can do?"  
First Aid shook his helm. "He needs to let his body lead the healing. The nerve center will reconnect the fibers and microcircuits if we give them time, but it's going to take a while. In the meantime, he's going to be exhausted, his reaction time will be down, his energy reserves will be shot, and his processor is going to be running at slower speeds. It won't be noticeable until you're in a combat environment." First Aid shook his helm. "He can't be in a combat environment, not right now. He's off duty."  
Prowl stared at Sideswipe's downcast helm. He exhaled, long and slow, as his processor strained just a bit more within his helm. Primus, but he needed Sideswipe right now. Sideswipe had become his right hand, and with the resurgent Decepticons wreaking havoc, Prime and Ironhide across the country, and their search for anything that would help them out going nowhere, Prowl had been looking forward to Sideswipe's return since Jazz had left. Sunstreaker's late entry had helped, but he wasn't there as often as he needed.  
And of course, now with Jazz's… and his… condition, he needed Sideswipe's help more than ever.  
"M'sorry," Sideswipe said softly. He looked up at Prowl, his optics dim and apologetic. "Shoulda dodged that shot."  
Prowl smiled, though it was thin and strained. First Aid frowned, his hand still on Sideswipe's plating. Sideswipe was beginning to tremble. "Sideswipe, let's start you on the stimulant treatments." Sideswipe nodded as Prowl frowned. "Sideswipe is going to be taking IV stimulants to speed up his healing, as well as provide a balm against the pain. I don't know if you've ever done it before, but tearing neural circuitry feels a bit like molten lava has been poured throughout your entire circuit grid, Prowl," First Aid explained, almost sounding like a young Ratchet for a moment.  
Prowl nodded, but his frown hadn't let up. "This is a serious hurdle we're going to have to overcome. I'd been looking forward to your return, Sideswipe."  
Sideswipe grimaced as First Aid helped him gently lean back, then began spiking his lines with the fluids and stimulants. "Sideswipe, you're not going to be able to feed Prowler from your lines for three hours after your treatments," First Aid said softly. Sideswipe's expression continued to darken, and his optics flicked across to Prowler, still wriggling in Sunstreaker's arms.  
"I'm sorry, Prowl," First Aid continued, directing his attention back to Prowl. "This must come at an inconvenient time for you, but Sideswipe needs to recover. He might be ready to resume duties by the time the sparkling arrives." First Aid had already heard from a stunned Wheeljack about the news.  
Prowl's doorwings shot straight up as Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's helms swiveled instantly to stare at him, optics white-bright and full of shock. Sunstreaker's hold on Prowler slackened momentarily, though he grasped his still-struggling sparkling a moment later. Prowler let out a scream, frustrated and overly tired.  
"Prowl?" Sideswipe asked, not believing what he heard.  
Swallowing, Prowl shook his helm. "It's… not me," he grunted, looking down. "It's Jazz. Jazz … is sparked."  
"Jazz?" Twin voices, full of even more incredulity, filled the medbay.  
"How is that possible?" Sunstreaker grunted. Prowl fixed him with a wry glare.  
"We're not… we're not telling anyone, we don't know what we're doing, and it was a complete accident," Prowl said, choking past the words. He wouldn't meet their gazes. "It's … pretty hard right now."  
"Tell me about it," Sunstreaker grumbled, still wrestling with Prowler, his sparkling seconds away from a full meltdown.  
"I really need your help, Sides," Prowl said softly, staring back at Sideswipe. He'd become a friend to Prowl, and Prowl needed that more so than he needed the help on the Command Deck.  
Sunstreaker frowned, staring at Prowl's profile. Sideswipe's expression crumbled and he turned to look away, though Prowl was still gazing at him with a twisted, pained look of his own. Prowler wiggled once more, burying his faceplates in Sunstreaker's chestplates before pushing back, struggling to break free from his hold. He screamed, then a moment later was rubbing his faceplates against Sunstreaker's plating once more, whining loudly.  
"I'll stay on duty," Sunstreaker grunted, peeling Prowler's sticky hands from their iron-clad hold on his neck cables. Prowler wailed again, a short scream, then clung fast as Sunstreaker grimaced. "I'll fill in for Sideswipe."  
Prowl turned to stare at Sunstreaker. His optics wandered over Prowler's struggling body. "Sunstreaker… are you sure?"  
Sunstreaker frowned and nodded. "If Sideswipe's going to be off duty, then he can stay with Prowler during the day. I'll stay on. I'll do a full shift."  
Prowl was frowning at Sunstreaker as First Aid spoke up. "Sideswipe will need help getting going in the mornings. Taking care of a sparkling isn't that demanding, but it would probably be best if you started your shifts a little later to give Sideswipe some extra time."  
Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, and Prowl stared at First Aid for a long, hard moment while Prowler arched his back and did everything in his power to wiggle away, while simultaneously grabbing Sunstreaker's wrists with all his might. He let out a mighty wail, then collapsed back into Sunstreaker's arms again, sniffling. Sunstreaker grunted at the impact.  
First Aid was full of rusted, rotten slag and had no idea what he was talking about.  
"What about Sideswipe's treatments? Will taking care of Prowler full time be an impediment?"  
First Aid shook his helm. "I'm sure it won't be. Wheeljack will be taking care of your treatments, Sideswipe," First Aid said simply. "We can schedule them around Sunstreaker's shifts, or work something out."  
Sunstreaker nodded, finally rolling Prowler over in his arms until Prowler was flat on his backplates, curled up in a cradle hold. Prowler moaned, but nuzzled his face against Sunstreaker's chestplates and quieted down as he began mouthing at his wrist.  
Prowl finally cracked a tiny smile watching the pair.  
Sideswipe, however, was frowning. "Wait, is this a done deal? Sunny?" he stared at his brother. "You're going on duty full time?"  
Sunstreaker nodded. "Yes. We talked about this."  
Sideswipe frowned as First Aid checked the stimulant drip. "What if I need you?" he asked softly.  
"You can do it," Sunstreaker grumbled. He frowned at his brother. "You can take care of Prowler, too."  
Prowl swallowed, watching Sideswipe's optics darken as his helm turned down. He pushed away his nervous thoughts. They could do this. It wouldn't be a disaster. It wouldn't be.

***

Jazz's day had sprinted from bad to terrible to just shy of disastrous.  
His morning bled into the afternoon with a drugged sense of non-time, and he only managed to drag himself along with the flow by virtue of the four cubes he'd inhaled. The additives helped, he hated to admit, but his body, now sensing that he was fueling properly, decided it was going to catch up on all its rest and recharge and get down to the busy task of sparkling building right away.  
Jazz's optics were dimming, and he had to cycle them back on every couple of minutes, Eventually, his body's systems won out, and Jazz slumped forward, slipping into recharge with his cheek pressed against his desk surface.  
His dreams raced forward, slamming into his processor as soon as he slipped into recharge. A cacophony of sound, of screaming sparklings and crying, wailing squeals assaulted his audials, before the scene solidified in front of his optics: his sparkling, visored and doorwinged, sitting up on his own play blanket and wailing, screaming and crying at the top of his vents. His quarters were a mess, sparkling toys, blocks, empty cubes and bottles scattered everywhere, warming blankets tossed haphazardly across the back of his couch.  
He didn't have a clue what to do. His sparkling wailed louder, his optics and tiny visor burning white-bright with pain. He stared at Jazz, glaring at him, his gaze full of painful accusations. It was all Jazz's fault.  
Suddenly, Prowl bustled up from behind Jazz, his doorwings arched high and pointed stiff. "Jazz!" Prowl barked. "What are you doing?"  
Frustration tore through Jazz's spark. "I never wanted this," he sputtered. "I don't know what to do!"  
"How could you carry him and not know how to love him?"  
"I just don't know what to do!" He shouted, his hands balling to fists.  
There was knocking at the door behind Jazz, and Blaster and Track's voices shouted out to him. "Jazz! C'mon on! We're going to miss the concert! We haven't seen you in ages, man!"  
"Just leave," Prowl snapped.  
"Prowl..." Jazz sputtered. He tried to reach for Prowl, but Prowl began backing away, still cradling their sparkling.  
"I don't need you anymore, Jazz," Prowl said coldly. "I don't even want you anymore."  
Jazz shouted a grunt of frustrated pain, lunging for Prowl. "Prowl!" he shouted. But Prowl was backing away, fading away, and soon he was all alone. Jazz balled his fists up by at his helm, shaking back and forth as he shouted angry curses. "I never wanted this!" he shouted. "I never wanted this!"  
Jazz shot up from his desk, his visor blaring. He gasped, and his hands clutched at his chestplates. Prowl's expression, that cold sneer, stayed with him as he awoke. He shook his helm, trying to clear his processor, but his sparkling's screams stayed in his helm.  
Shaking, Jazz's optics caught on one of his tubules, standing at the corner of his desk. He snarled, then reached out and slapped it off his desk. It went flying through the air before clattering against the bulkhead. Jazz shouted as it hit, replaying his nightmare once more in his helm.  
In the silence that followed, Jazz's tank lurched. Damn, but he needed another cube… and that tube of additives.  
He'd never asked for any of this.

***

Sunstreaker's transition to full time duty shifts was a smooth operation. He arrived on the Command Deck just shortly after the duty shift officially began and after taking care of Prowler's morning routine while Sideswipe got himself slowly going.  
Prowl put him to work immediately, going over the incoming satellite feeds from the humans and Sky Spy over the areas Jazz had narrowed the Decepticons to. Sunstreaker kept entirely to himself, cloistered in the corner of the Command Deck or in Prowl's office. He made no attempts to reach out to anyone, save Prowl, and only with grunting comments on his duties.  
Sideswipe's transition to full-time parent was less smooth. He was slow, slow on his feet, slow in his movements, and still exhausted and drained from his injuries, as well as still feeling the pain traveling through his burned and torn neural circuitry. His knee was injured as well, thanks to his slide down the snowy mountain, and was stiff and sore most days. Sideswipe was ever thankful that Sunstreaker took the lead in taking care of Prowler in the morning, when he was the slowest, though it was infuriating frustrating to feel so run down. He felt incredibly useless as he shuffled from the berth to the couch while Sunstreaker fed Prowler, entertained him through his morning boisterousness, and pulled out his play blanket and small collection of toys. Sunstreaker rocked Prowler into a quick nap before handing him over to Sideswipe and heading out the door every morning.  
Prowler seemed confused the first day, and he kept turning toward the doorway while Sideswipe tried to play with him after he awoke, seemingly searching for Sunstreaker. Prowler refused to go down for his afternoon nap, instead becoming fussy and irritable as he fought and cried against Sideswipe. He missed Sunstreaker, and playing with his blocks wasn't the same.  
By the time Sunstreaker returned, Sideswipe had learned a new meaning to the word "exhausted." How did Sunstreaker do this, every day? Prowler wanted to play, and then he wanted to be fed, and then he refused to recharge but he needed it, and refused to play some more. He degenerated into fits, and Sideswipe didn't have a clue what to do. It was ridiculous. Prowler was his sparkling, and he felt as useful as Wheeljack, compared to Sunstreaker.  
Both Prowler and Sideswipe threw Sunstreaker an entirely too-relieved smile, complete with bright, shining optics veering toward their own individual meltdowns.  
Sunstreaker spent the rest of the evening with Prowler, who was greedy for his time and attention, and by the time Prowler went down to recharge for the night, Sideswipe was also soundly offline.

***

Prowl's week began with a moment of shocked joy, quickly turned to terrified hesitation, and slowly continued sliding downhill.  
Jazz hadn't returned to his quarters after their first duty shift, and instead, Prowl found him carrying on and partying in the Rec Room as if nothing were wrong in any way. He hung back, watching Jazz playing a card game with Blaster as the two cracked jokes before he slipped away silently. Still, much later, Jazz keyed his way into Prowl's quarters and eased himself into Prowl's berth. Prowl onlined with his helm pillowed on Jazz's backplates, and for a moment, his spark swelled with relief.  
Still, Jazz remained distant throughout the morning, and their duties took them in separate directions the next day. Prowl and Trailbreaker poured through Sunstreaker's aggregated telemetry scans while Jazz worked with Prime, trying to pressure the US government to release more information on the classified files snatched by the Decepticons. Jazz was exhausted by the time the day was finally over, and instead of heading to the Rec Room, he went back to Prowl's quarters and slumped to the couch with his fortified cube.  
He fell into recharge after only a few minutes.  
Prowl arrived about an hour later, and upon seeing Jazz, his spark cried out happily. We can work this out, I know we can. He smiled as he stared at Jazz. _I won't let this tear us apart. We're strong. We can do this._ He set down his data pads and moved behind the couch, careful not to disturb Jazz. Slowly and gently, he leaned down, stroking his hands over Jazz's arms as he pressed a lingering kiss to his helm. It had been so long since they were together. Perhaps if they reconnected, things would improve. He trailed kisses down Jazz's audial horn before burying his face in Jazz's neck.  
Jazz groaned in his recharge, then stiffened as he began to online. "Prowl!" He shot forward, breaking Prowl's hold on his arms before turning and glaring back at him. "What are you doing?" he snapped.  
Prowl's optics blazed with shock. "I was just-" he tried to stammer.  
"What?" Jazz challenged.  
"Forget it." Prowl turned away.  
Jazz watched him closely, but didn't say anything. He couldn't. He didn't know anything anymore. Part of him wanted to go to Prowl, but part of him held back. That certainty and the anger bubbling in him did nothing to assuage the pain in his spark as he watched Prowl's backplates across his quarters. He ruthlessly pushed it down, shoving it away to the darkness of his spark.

***

Sideswipe's second day of parenting didn't go any better. In fact, it went measurably worse.  
A recharging Prowler was once again handed off to him while Sunstreaker ran out the door, leaving Sideswipe to stare at his backplates. He cradled Prowler close while he recharged, but when Prowler onlined, the Pit broke loose in their quarters.  
Prowler was not having another day without Sunstreaker. He took one look at Sideswipe and burst into sobs, electric wails and wet sniffles echoing throughout their quarters. Panicked, Sideswipe tried everything he could think of, everything that had ever worked in the past, but no matter how much rocking or soft singing or how many funny faces he made at Prowler, Prowler's wails never ceased. He struggled in Sideswipe's arms, trying to break his hold.  
Distraught, Sideswipe admitted defeat two hours into Prowler's meltdown. He comm'd Sunstreaker privately, and hated having to do it. "Sideswipe to Sunstreaker."  
"What is it? What's wrong?"  
Sideswipe cringed. He was such a failure as a parent. How did Sunstreaker do this every day, so perfectly? "Prowler needs you, Sunny."  
Sunstreaker frowned, and Sideswipe could almost hear it on his end of the line. "Sideswipe, I'm busy," he ground out. "Can't you handle it?"  
"No, Sunstreaker," Sideswipe said, exasperation in his voice. He struggled to hold onto Prowler, his sparkling letting loose a wild scream as he arched his entire body, trying to break free of Sideswipe's hold. "He needs you. He's screaming, and I can't calm him down. He misses you." He paused. "He doesn't want me. I'm not good enough."  
There was a long moment of silence before Sunstreaker grumbled, "I'll be right there."  
Sunstreaker came barreling in with a dark frown on his faceplates, but to Prowler, that was the best sight in the world. He lunged, trying to catapult himself directly into Sunstreaker's hold, and Sideswipe gratefully handed him over. Prowler's little hands gripped Sunstreaker's fingers tight as he sucked at his wrist line, and his optics never left Sunstreaker's faceplates.  
Sideswipe felt like an abject failure.  
Maybe they really weren't meant to be together. Dark whispers pushed against Sideswipe's processor throughout the day, taunting him. Maybe it was all a fantasy, or broken code, or just simple fragging lust. Maybe they really weren't meant to be together. This was all a giant mistake, and another one added on top of that, pretending that they could make this work.  
Finally, Sunstreaker handed off a recharging Prowler to Sideswipe and swept out the door without a glance back. Sideswipe collapsed on the couch, the destruction of their quarters scattered around him from his attempts to distract Prowler earlier, and tried not to let the fact that his sparkling didn't like him and that Sunstreaker was leaving without a word break his spark.

***

Jazz still stubbornly recharged in Prowl's quarters. His own were cold and empty, and the lingering specter of his nightmare still flashed in his processor whenever he ventured within. One of them would fall into recharge first – the last time, Jazz, who could barely stay online any more – and the other would crawl in beside him a short time later.  
They woke up intertwined together, holding tight, and that did strange things to both of their systems. Prior to Jazz's month long mission, they had interfaced every single day, multiple times a day. One of Prowl's guilty pleasures had become their morning interfacing. It started sleepy, half-online hands wandering over plating as systems heated up, and then built to a passion-filled bang as their fully-charged systems onlined to peak strength.  
Jazz's hands began roaming, stroking over Prowl's backplates and doorwings as Prowl lay with his helm nestled in the crook of Jazz's shoulder, and Prowl reacted similarly, grinding his hips against Jazz's, all in the dimness of recharge.  
Jazz pulled Prowl up onto his body while still in recharge, and Prowl blindly moved to kiss him. As their lips met, Jazz onlined, and he pulled back with a gasp.  
Prowl onlined as well, and his sleepy happiness morphed to trepidation. "Jazz? Everything alright?" Silence. "It's been a while, and I miss you, Jazz."  
After a moment, Prowl nodded and tried to back away. "Sorry. It just happened," he apologized quietly.  
Jazz moaned, reaching for Prowl. Maybe if he could pound this out, then he'd be able to break this clenching, clutching helplessness. He felt so powerless, and perhaps this would help that. Maybe he could take whatever-it-was that he felt like he lost back. Maybe he could find himself again.  
"Do you want me?" Jazz asked roughly.  
"Oh yes," Prowl breathed.  
Slowly, Jazz began to falter. He pushed in hard, growling, but no matter how he forced his body to move, nothing was going to override his body's loudly proclaiming alarms of low energy. His charge evaporated as quickly as it came.  
"What's wrong?" Prowl gasped, staring up at Jazz. He was so close, and if Jazz just kept going, he'd have that release he needed, and he'd unclench that terrible knot in his chestplates. "Jazz, don't stop!"  
Jazz growled, scowling, and turned away. He slumped on the edge of the berth as he gripped the metal hard, denting the plates. His rage-filled stare burned across Prowl's quarters.  
"Jazz?" Prowl tried to reach out to his lover, but one touch, and Jazz shook him off.  
Prowl quickly put the pieces together. He sighed, then moved to sit next to Jazz. "It's alright," he tried to say softly. "Your energy levels are still way out of whack."  
"It's not alright," Jazz grumbled.  
Prowl tried bumping his shoulder against Jazz's. "It just means we have to fuel up first, that's all." He tried to smile at Jazz, searching for his optics.  
Jazz pushed himself off the berth, refusing to look at Prowl. He grabbed a tube of additives from his messy pile on Prowl's couch table before storming out of his quarters. Prowl was left all alone, and his expression hardened while he stared down at the decking.

***

Sideswipe's stimulant treatments began in the evenings after Sunstreaker returned. Sideswipe was still so stiff, and his treatments waned too quickly. The pain returned before the next treatment, always, and his lines crawled with fiery pinpricks of crawling lightning. Wheeljack could see the pain in Sideswipe's frame, and in the slow shuffle of his steps.  
Wheeljack met Sideswipe at the medbay doors. "How are you feeling, Sideswipe?" Wheeljack's audial fins illuminated softly.  
"So-so," Sideswipe said. He leaned against the doorframe for a moment, sighing.  
"Let's get started," Wheeljack said, helping Sideswipe over to the medberth. Sideswipe lay down gingerly with a tired exhale and dimmed his optics as Wheeljack began setting up the stimulants and lines and pulled Sideswipe's forearm plating off, exposing his protoform and the internals beneath.  
Sideswipe cringed as Wheeljack slid the spike into his lines, then tried to breathe evenly as the stimulants hit his systems. It felt a million blades were swimming in his lines, thousands of sharp edges and jittery pinpricks all slipping through his systems. It was an entirely uncomfortable feeling, and it crawled behind his optics as he tried to lie perfectly still.  
"So, how are you doing, Wheeljack?" Sideswipe asked, trying to distract himself. "How's life?"  
Wheeljack shrugged, his audial fins flashing briefly. "So-so," he echoed. "Pretty busy." In truth, he wasn't busy at all, but he was forcing himself to be busy to keep his mind off of Ratchet. If he let himself go for one moment, one second, his processor would spin back to his ex-lover, and then he'd be maudlin and morose all over again. He couldn't move on, couldn't move forward if all he wanted to do was run backward. It was why Wheeljack volunteered to treat Sideswipe; that was another thing he could do that would keep his mind off of Ratchet.  
"Miss Ratchet?" Sideswipe's voice was quiet.  
Wheeljack's voice stopped in his throat. He swallowed painfully and looked down. "Yeah," he choked out. His audial fins didn't light up at all.  
"I missed Sunstreaker so much I could barely stand it," Sideswipe whispered.  
Wheeljack looked up and stared at Sideswipe's profile. "Glad to be back?"  
"I don't know," Sideswipe whispered again. He chewed on his lower lip briefly. "Maybe I just missed him so much I forgot how difficult everything was."  
Frowning, Wheeljack tried to reach out and comfort Sideswipe. He squeezed his shoulder gently, though he didn't say a word. Sideswipe's words hung in his processor, swirling around the memory of Ratchet. Sometimes he wondered if he made the right choice, if he could race across the country and throw himself at Ratchet's feet… But Sideswipe was right. What if he was just wishing as hard as he could, and not truly remembering the realities?

***

Anger had replaced all of Jazz's logic, all of his level-headed calm rationality. Admittedly, he was nowhere near Prowl's level with any of those attributes and virtues, and it took far less for him to lose his patience entirely. The week, however, had managed to solidly wring it from his grasp and replace it with a cold fury.  
Every step, every footfall echoed Jazz's inner convictions, his private shouts to the sky. _I never asked for this! I don't want this!_ His fears were all coming true, every one of them. He wasn't going to let his life be taken away from him. He wasn't going to just let this happen. He was putting a stop to this ridiculousness.  
Jazz stormed into Wheeljack's lab. "'Jack!" He growled. "Where you at?"  
From behind one of Wheeljack's back tables, a small crash could be heard, then a muffled curse, and Wheeljack's helm popped up a moment later, his optics wide. "Jazz?"  
"I want to schedule a surgery, 'Jack," Jazz growled. "I'm not carrying this thing." He waved his hand toward his abdomen, a scowl on his face.  
Wheeljack froze, his audial fins flashing brightly. Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet and reached for a rag to wipe his hands with. He walked toward Jazz with slow, even footsteps. "Jazz… I can't do that," he said softly.  
"Yes, you can," Jazz growled again. "I'm telling you to."  
"Jazz…" Wheeljack swallowed. "Prowl came to me earlier and asked me not to terminate your guys' sparkling, not yet." Prowl had been quiet, near falling apart at the seams, and he had painfully asked Wheeljack in between hushed breaths and choking gasps.  
"Give us some time, please," Prowl had pleaded softly. "I need to talk to him, and he won't let us really talk about this. We need to decide this together..."  
Jazz's anger morphed, twisting to righteous fury in a heartbeat. How dare Prowl… how dare Prowl go behind his back to decide his own future. "That's not Prowl's choice!" Jazz spat bitterly. "He's not the one sparked. He's not the one carrying."  
Wheeljack's audial fins illuminated softly. "Jazz…" he shook his helm. "I can't. I can't do what you're asking me to do."  
"It's my right," Jazz growled, stepping forward and pressing into Wheeljack's personal space.  
"I'm not arguing that," Wheeljack said softly. "But I can't. I cannot. I can't tear Prowl's spark out, like this would do to him. You have to talk, Jazz. You guys need to decide what to do togehter."  
"It's my choice!" Jazz bellowed, his fury spiking dangerously. He slammed his fist down on Wheeljack's worktable, clattering the surface. Beakers tipped dangerously. "Prowl can go frag off! He can go frag someone else and spark his own sparkling! This is my choice! I don't want this!"  
Wheeljack's audial fins faded softly. "I'm sorry, Jazz," he whispered. "I won't do this. Not until you both agree."  
"You are holding my life hostage because of a fragging, unwanted, sparkling," Jazz hissed, lubricants spitting from his lips with the force of his anger. His visor burned, glaring fiercely down into Wheeljack's faceplates. "This isn't right!"  
"All I'm asking you to do is talk," Wheeljack pleaded. "Come to an agreement. Don't ask me to do this against Prowl's will. Don't ask me to do this to hurt him."  
"Go frag yourself, Wheeljack!" Jazz bellowed again, shoving Wheeljack back hard. "I thought you'd understand, of everyone," he spat as Wheeljack stumbled. Wheeljack's optics flashed as he glared back at Jazz. With a snarl, Jazz turned and stalked out of Wheeljack's lab.  
His fury knew no limits, not any longer. How dare Prowl go behind his back. How dare Wheeljack not listen to him. How dare this unwanted mistake of a sparkling dictate his life. He clenched his hands into fists, trying to control the force of his surging rages. His spark felt like it was exploding, bursting into bits of fiery anger that streaked through his body, trailing bitterness in its wake.  
The entire world was against him. Prowl, Wheeljack, even the sparkling within him, all trying to hijack his life and wrench it away from him. He wasn't going to let that happen. Not at all.

***

Prowl paced his quarters, a heavy frown on his faceplates. It was almost midnight, and Jazz hadn't returned. He hadn't taken another tube of additives since that morning, and Prowl was growing frantic with worry. What was Jazz doing? Where was he? Why wasn't he taking care of himself? He sighed, for perhaps the thousandth time, and finally headed out in search of his wayward lover.  
Jazz wasn't in his office, nor in the Spec Ops lockers. His suspicions were piqued as he neared his third destination. Heavy music and a hard bass beat pounded from the Rec Room, shaking the bulkheads around the doors. Prowl's doorwings slumped as he stopped in front of the door, and he slowly lifted his hand to palm open the door.  
"Prowl!" Tracks' voice called out over the blaring music. Bluestreak, Smokescreen, Mirage, Hound, the minibots, and the Aerialbots were all scattered around the Rec Room, laughing and joking as the music blared. Cubes of high grade were on all the tables. Prowl's optics scanned the room, but he saw no sign of Jazz. "Here to join Jazz's party?"  
Prowl frowned and pushed through the room to Tracks' side. "Where is Jazz?"  
Tracks face twisted, and he grinned coyly. That expression that Prowl hated, the one where Tracks knew something secret and he was going to exploit that, spread over his face. "Oh, well," he said, his voice dripping with false sweetness. "I'm not sure I should say, if you don't know… Trouble in paradise?"  
Prowl's patience snapped. He pushed into Tracks' personal space as his doorwings flared wide and his optics narrowed. "Tell me now," he growled.  
Tracks smiled demurely, still fully in control. "Well, if you insist," he whispered. "Jazz left with Blaster about an hour ago. Looked pretty charged up too." Tracks winked at Prowl.  
Prowl's spark guttered in his chestplates, his tanks sinking with terrible dread. He kept his expression neutral, hardened to steel, and turned on his heel quickly. "Good luck!" Tracks called after Prowl as Prowl stormed out of the Rec Room.  
He raced down the corridors, pain and anger and frustration tearing through him. Prowl blazed his way through the habitat deck until he was outside Blaster's door. Music, slow, with a heavy bass line, flowed from within. Prowl tried to swallow, but couldn't shake the pain from his optics. He lifted his hand and began banging on the door, pounding his fist against the metal.  
Blaster's voice shouted from within. "Come on in!" The doors slid open automatically, and Prowl pushed into his quarters.  
Jazz and Blaster were sitting opposite each other in front of Blaster's table, and small cubes of high grade shots were spread out before them. The music was punishing within Blaster's quarters, and Prowl winced at the power of the bass line. Blaster frowned at Prowl's entrance, but his optics quickly slid to Jazz.  
Jazz was staring at Prowl with a dark expression, a sneer spread across his lips. "What are you doing here, Prowl?" he asked. His words were staticy and charged with excess energy.  
"What are you doing, Jazz?" Prowl said softly. "Are you drinking high grade?" His doorwings spiked high.  
Jazz grabbed a shot of high grade and swallowed it down. "Yup," he said, tossing the cube to the table. "Got something to say?"  
Prowl's expression darkened. "You can't do that, Jazz," he hissed.  
"Oh, yeah? Says who?" Jazz tried to stand, stumbling from his chair. Blaster stared at Jazz, wide optic'd and silent. "You? Like you talked to Wheeljack?"  
"Jazz…" Prowl warned, trying to control his surging emotions. "We need to go."  
"I'm not going anywhere," Jazz spat. Static choked his words, and he stumbled as he tried to step away from Prowl.  
Prowl moved to Jazz's side instantly and caught his stumble in his arms. "Jazz, this isn't you," he snapped. "What are you doing?"  
"Taking my life back!" Jazz shouted, trying to twist away from Prowl's arms. "Let me go!"  
"You're hurting yourself," Prowl pleaded, trying to hold on to Jazz through his struggles. Jazz's movements were uncoordinated, and he almost took them both down. "Jazz! Stop!"  
"You don't care!" Jazz shouted. "You don't care about me!"  
"That's all I care about." Prowl hefted Jazz closer, trying to take his body weight onto his shoulders.  
Jazz shoved at Prowl hard. "Let me go!" Prowl grunted, refusing to let go, and Jazz growled. He shifted, but the high grade finally caught up with his underpowered systems. He slumped, his optics dimming, and finally fell offline. Prowl was left holding his offline body in his arms, and he gasped against the pain from Jazz's accusations.  
"Whoa," Blaster whispered. Prowl's helm whipped around, and he glared fiercely at Blaster. "What the slag was that?" Blaster asked, frowning at Prowl. "I ain't never seen him like that before."  
Swallowing, Prowl shifted Jazz's arm over his shoulder. "It was nothing," he said sharply. "We're leaving."  
"I don't think he wanted to go with you, Prowl," Blaster said slowly.  
Prowl's glared hardened to ice as he stared down at Blaster. "Stay out of our business, Blaster," he said levelly. Blaster shook his helm and held his hands up in surrender while Prowl dragged Jazz back to his quarters.

***

Jazz onlined feeling as if his insides were on his outside. _I'd have to feel better to die!_ He thought, groaning. He tried rolling to his side before he onlined his optics and nearly fell from whatever-it-was he was lying on. Primus, what had happened? Why was he feeling so terrible?  
Slowly, his optics flickered online, and his surroundings, though fuzzy, became known. With a rush, everything came back, racing through his processor too fast. Prowl, Wheeljack, the sparkling, the high grade, Prowl, their argument, Prowl… His tanks heaved, and Jazz felt the beginnings of a purge flash through his system.  
A bin was shoved beneath his faceplates, just before he retched, and he purged the entire contents of his tanks – stale high grade and half-processed energon – into the bin. The smell was righteous, and Jazz groaned, pressing his forehelm to the edge of the couch, Prowl's couch, that he was lying on.  
Slowly, the bin was pulled back. Jazz tried to glare at the mech who loomed over him, but turning his helm required movement, and he wasn't quite capable of that yet. "Why am I here?" he grunted instead.  
"I dragged you back here after last night," Prowl said quietly. His voice was filled to the brim with unshed rage, vibrating with the force. "How could you, Jazz? How could you do that?"  
"How could you, Prowl?" Jazz spat back, struggling to sit up. His processor spun wildly as he moved. "All I am doing is living my life, and you know what? That's my life! This? This isn't!"  
"You purposely went out and endangered yourself-" Prowl's doorwings were trembling, shaking with his rage.  
"You don't care about me!" Jazz shouted. "You only care about this thing inside me! All you want is the sparkling!"  
"That's not true."  
"It is!" Jazz glared at Prowl. "Otherwise, you'd listen to me! You'd understand why I don't want this! You'd understand what I have to do! Not go sneaking around behind my back and forbid Wheeljack from doing what is well within my right!" Jazz was shaking now too, his own rage flowing unchecked.  
"You won't let me talk to you! You won't let us discuss this, Jazz," Prowl sighed. "We can work this out, figure out what's best for both of us, but you won't even try. You don't want to talk about anything."  
"There's nothing to work out! Nothing to talk about! I never wanted this!"  
"Who are you?" Prowl wailed, his optics flashing. "You are not the Jazz I love!"  
"Then you must never have really loved me at all, Prowl," Jazz spat. "What, you only love me when it's fun? When it all goes your way?" Jazz shouted, then pounded on his chestplates. "I gave you myself, and now you're using that against me!" he bellowed at the top of his vents.  
"Jazz!" Prowl shouted. "Stop! Just stop this! That isn't true!"  
"Stop telling me what to do!" Jazz shouted again. He stumbled, faint with lack of energy from the high grade and his condition. Prowl tried to reach for him, even still wanting to help. Jazz shook him away, glaring. He pushed past Prowl, stalking toward the door shakily. "We were idiots to think that we could ever be together," he spat. "When push comes to shove, it's just like it's always been between us." He glared over his shoulder at Prowl.  
Prowl was shaking his helm as he stared at Jazz, his optics full of pain. "It doesn't have to be like this," he whispered.  
Jazz turned away and palmed open Prowl's door. He paused before heading out, exhaling.  
The blaring of the alarm klaxon pierced through the Ark, shattering the agonizing stillness of the moment.

***

"What's going on?" Prowl shouted as he ran onto the Command Deck. Jazz, despite Prowl's protests, ran up behind him.  
"Decepticon attack in progress!" Red Alert called out.  
"Where?" Trailbreaker frowned at the scans of Teletraan One. "There's nothing in the area!"  
Red Alert keyed up the communications feeds he was tapped into. "This is the Pentagon's secure frequency," he said, keying it into the speakers. "The attack is at the Mojave Air and Space Port in Southern California."  
Prowl frowned. "Are we getting a distress signal? Are the humans calling for help?"  
Red Alert turned to fix him with a pointed stare. "No, sir," he said. "I had to pick this out of the radio feeds myself."  
Silence settled over the deck for a moment. "That's interesting," Trailbreaker mused.  
"What are the humans keeping from us?" Jazz grunted behind Prowl.  
"I don't like this." Red Alert's fingers flew over his keypad.  
Prowl nodded slowly. "Get the shuttles on the deck and ready to launch in five. If Decepticons are attacking, we're to take the lead. That's what our treaty stipulates, and that's what we're doing." He nodded toward Trailbreaker. "Call up the squads."  
Trailbreaker nodded before turning away, and Red Alert began blaring the information over the Ark's comm system, rousing the mechs to their battle stations and for the squads to form up in the hangar and get ready to launch. Jazz turned away as well, opening a comm line to Mirage. "Mirage, grab Bee and get on up to the Command Deck, we've got a situation, and we're wheels up in five."  
Prowl whipped around, staring at Jazz. "You are not going," he spat.  
Jazz glared at Prowl. "You can't stop me."  
"I am ordering you not to go."  
"Special Operations exists outside your purview of authority," Jazz shot back. "Only Prime can order me to remain on the Ark. I'm my own mech."  
Prowl pushed himself into Jazz's faceplates. "I will have you declared medically unfit for duty," he growled.  
"I'm perfectly healthy," Jazz hissed. "This has never been ruled an impediment to duties. Don't you dare treat me like a broken thing."  
"You're acting like you've got a broken processor!"  
"No, I'm not acting the way you want me to act, and that frags you off!"  
Prowl's optics blazed as his doorwings hiked up. "I will not let you pull another stunt like you did last night, and endanger both your lives," he growled again.  
Jazz snorted and looked away quickly. "S'alright, Prowl," he said coldly. "I know where your priorities lie. I know who's most important to you."

***

This time, Sideswipe was the one left waiting and holding Prowler while his tanks twisted into knots and his spark sank in his systems as he watched the shuttles lift off and speed away to battle. Sunstreaker was onboard, per his return to duty full-time, and was next to a fuming Prowl, who was staring at Jazz across the shuttle's hold, talking to Mirage and Bee as if nothing were the matter.  
Prowl's only consolation at all was that he'd made Jazz drink two cubes of fortified energon before boarding the shuttles. Still, he was furious at Jazz, furious for what he had done, what he had said, and furious at their whole situation. How could it have come to this? Prowl's tanks churned as they neared the Mojave Air and Space Port, but his fears weren't necessary, and neither were Sideswipe's.  
A few miles out, US fighter jets rudely intercepted their shuttles and escorted them in for a landing in the flats outside of the Air and Space Port.  
"This is a restricted military air space," the lead fighter pilot explained. "You are ordered to make an immediate landing outside the restricted airspace."  
"Restricted?" Prowl comm'd back. "We're your allies."  
"This is restricted US military air space," he repeated. "Only US military personnel are authorized in this location. Land immediately, or we will be forced to take hostile action." Another fighter fired a streak of gunfire across the shuttle's bow. A few shots were too close for comfort. Confused, and only growing more angry, Prowl ordered the shuttles to land.  
The crew fell out and formed a perimeter around the shuttles, everyone hunkering down in their squads as Trailbreaker and Sunstreaker kept running sensor sweep after sensor sweep on the battle area. The Decepitcons had long since left, but the damage was still fresh, hulking piles of debris, smoking craters, twisted jets and planes, and a devastated and ravaged hanger all bored testimony to their attack. Their energy trails were still also evident, but without secure coordiantes to begin the triangulation, all Trailbreaker could gather was a rough cone-shaped area the Decepticons might have fled to.  
Finally, after far, far too long, a slow trail of dust floated up from the horizon, and a long line of Humvees paraded out to meet the shuttle. They were all heavily armed, and each of the roof-mounted fifty caliber machine guns were trained directly on the Autobots, which only added more confusion and irritation to the mess for Prowl.  
The Humvees formed a defensive perimeter, blocking the Autobots from any further advance without having to fight their way through directly. Lazily, and with the sort of arrogance that only an officer defended by an entire battalion of heavy ammunition can muster, the Colonel climbed out of his command Humvee. Two personal guards fell in beside him, and he stopped some distance away from the Autobots' perimeter squads. He eyed the pulse rifle in Bluestreak's hand from behind dark aviator glasses before he snorted and shook his head.  
"What is the meaning of this?" Prowl demanded, striding forward to confront the Colonel. Jazz stood to his right, backing him up. The rest of the Autobot's hung back in their perimeters and back on the shuttle ramps, staring out in confusion and gripping their rifles.  
Immediately as Prowl moved, the two personal guards for the Colonel stiffened, and their rifles rose toward Prowl and Jazz. "This is a secure military zone," the Colonel drawled out lazily. "Only US military personnel are allowed within our perimeter."  
"But you just had a Decepticon attack!" Black smoke rose from fires burning on base, and a crater was clearly visible next to one of the runways. "We need track the Decepticons! You have to let us examine the battle."  
The Colonel shook his head. "We've got it covered from here."  
"On what authority?" Prowl's doorwings flared wide. "We have an alliance. We are charged with protecting Earth and its peoples from Decepticon attacks, and we can't do that if we can't find them. Why are you impeding us from our duties?"  
"You are just going to have to search for them somewhere else." The Colonel nodded once to the Autobots and turned away.  
"You've got to be kidding us!" Jazz shouted. "This is ridiculous!"  
"We have orders to shoot on sight any intruder who tries to enter the base," The Colonel called from his Humvee as he adjusted his sunglasses. "I wouldn't advise you try anything rash. Ya'll aren't so good at blending in around here." With that, the humans packed into their Humvees and headed back.  
Prowl stood, staring after the humans in shock. Jazz glared as well, and they watched the dust of the convoy's tires float over the desert air before glancing back at one another. For once that week, they didn't look at each other with anger. "Something's going on," Prowl growled. "We have to comm Prime in DC, right away."  
Jazz's optics narrowed as he nodded. His processor spun wildly, planning ahead.

***

The trip back to the Ark was subdued. The rest of the crew was speculating madly with theories and possibilities about what the humans were possibly up to. Prowl sat in the forward flight deck, wondering the same question.  
Jazz, however, huddled with Mirage and Bee in the back of the shuttle, the three Special Operations mechs discussing the mystery amongst themselves. "This is damned weird, and I'm not standing around on the sidelines anymore waiting for the next move," Jazz growled. "I've got a plan." Quietly, he sketched out his strategy in hushed and clipped tones, and Bee and Mirage both nodded. "Get your gear and meet me in the Spec Ops lockers an hour after we get back. We leave tonight," Jazz said. "Tell no one. This is a compartmented mission." Again, they nodded, and Jazz leaned back, satisfied.  
His anxiety, however, peaked as they neared the Ark. There was one stop he had to make before their mission began.  
The comm message was programmed to not appear in Prowl's message center until late that night, well after Jazz had already left the Ark. In the confusion and bustle of the return to base, Jazz, Mirage and Bumblebee slipped out unnoticed, driving off into the distance on their own Special Operations mission.  
Jazz, as the head of Special Operations, existed outside the purview of the Command hierarchy, and didn't need to clear his mission with Prowl beforehand. He only had to supply him with the details of it after the fact.  
Prowl was at his desk, exhausted after too many embattled comversations with the Pentagon and their angry comm messages back and forth. He and Prime had gotten nowhere, and all the valuable evidence from the Decepticon attack had already been cleaned away by the humans. It was a horrible day that had started out terrible, and, as per usual, had progressively gotten worse.  
The message pinged into his inbox, and Prowl keyed it open without thinking. His optics scanned over the text, then belatedly took in its meaning. His mouth dropped open as he read the file and Jazz's bare mission outline. "No," he whispered. Furiously, he scanned to the bottom of the orders, checking for the time stamp for the mission start. It had been that afternoon.  
Prowl scrambled for his terminal, then keyed up Teletraan One. "Display Autobot Jazz's location!"  
_Autobot Jazz is not on board theArk._  
Slowly, Prowl sank into his chair as the world faded away, A roar blasted by his audials, and he inhaled a long, slow drag of painful air. It shuddered through his chest, and Prowl's optics dimmed as he lowered his helm to stare at the decking.  
Jazz was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

Sideswipe was hovering on the verge of depression, and he shifted the timing of his stimulant treatments to the middle of the day, hoping to maybe get some time back with his family in the evenings.  
Wheeljack hadn't been that excited to move the treatment times to earlier. A long silence held over the comm line before he grunted back, "Are you bringing Prowler?"  
"I'll come after Sunny gives him his midday energon." Sunstreaker's mid-shift breaks to feed Prowler had become standard, as had Prowler's immediate nap thereafter. Sideswipe was only a watcher, a sparkling-sitter, watching over Prowler as their sparkling waited for Sunstreaker to return at the midshift and the end of the day. "He'll be offline for a few hours."  
Sighing heavily through the comm system, Wheeljack finally agreed. They'd confirmed the time for the next afternoon.  
Prowler was offline and comfortably wrapped up in his blankets when Sideswipe slowly trudged his way into the medbay. The pain in his neck was radiating outward constantly now, traveling down his lines and cables and stiffening every joint. It hurt to walk, hurt to move, and drained all of his energy away. Despite First Aid's initial optimism, Sideswipe was dubious about the effects of his treatments.  
Wheeljack waved idly toward Sideswipe from his slump on one of the stools next to the medberth situated for Sideswipe's use. His audials barely flickered, and his optics were dim, seemingly drained. Exhaustion ebbed from every joint. Things were falling apart all around him, and Wheeljack could barely hang on.  
"Hey Wheeljack," Sideswipe called out softly. "You look like I feel."  
Finally, Wheeljack's audial fins flickered briefly. "I could say the same thing." His optics briefly flashed to Prowler. "What do you want to do with him?"  
"He's offline for now." Sideswipe tucked the blanket around Prowler's helm, blocking his optics from the lights above. "He'll be fine if we leave him on one of the medberths."  
Sighing, Sideswipe's optics offlined as he rolled onto his backplates, hissing in pain. "This sucks slag, Wheeljack," he whispered.  
"I know." Again, Wheeljack's audials barely flickered. He fiddled with Sideswipe's forearm plating, loosening the catches to reveal his protoform beneath and the delicate lines carrying his vital fluids. Above, the bags of fortified energon and electrified alloys were suspended on the hanging trellis, and Wheeljack pulled down on the retractable lines before he onlined the spring-gauge needle. He reached down, steading Sideswipe's wrist, and positioned the needle just below his elbow joint. Prowler's delicate feeding line pulsed faintly next to Sideswipe's main descending energon line.  
As Wheeljack slid the needle deep into Sideswipe's ascending line, Sideswipe inhaled roughly, grimacing at the near-instant flooding sensations of burning lancets and the sharp stabs of pain spreading throughout his body. Wheeljack's audial fins flickered in sympathy, and he squeezed Sideswipe's wrist. Exhaling, Sideswipe tried to grip back, trying to smile, trying to be strong.  
Silence descended over the pair. Wheeljack returned to his perch, slumping in his stool as his gaze split between Sideswipe and Prowler on the berths on either side of him.  
"So what's new with you, 'Jack?" Sideswipe whispered hoarsely. Talking helped distract him. "Missing Ratch'?"  
Wheeljack's vocalizer froze. He swallowed, his optics darkening, and lowered his helm.  
Sideswipe's optics onlined as the silence stretched on, and he stared at Wheeljack as his helm hung low, shaking slowly. "Wheeljack?"  
"We split up," Wheeljack finally admitted. His vocalizer ground out over the words, rough and ragged. "We're not…" His vocalizer trailed off into static.  
"What?" Shocked, Sideswipe could only stare at Wheeljack. "Why?" he breathed.  
Wheeljack shook his helm again, his audial fins flickering. He wouldn't look at Sideswipe as he spoke. "Things change, you know. Things happen in life… Mechs change. Different things become important to different mechs." His vocalizer choked off again.  
The words were laser shots straight to Sideswipe's spark. Primus, but wasn't that what was happening to him and Sunstreaker? Sunstreaker's world was Prowler, and Sideswipe… Sideswipe was now set adrift. "But…" He hissed. Sideswipe's processor was spinning, his body in pain, and speaking was difficult. "You guys were great together. You've been together for so long… You couldn't … work it out?"  
Wheeljack shook his helm, turning away to busy himself with adjusting Sideswipe's drip line. "Sometimes you have to leave," he said quietly after a long, tense pause. "Sometimes you just have to leave to make things right."  
"But…" Sideswipe trailed off. Wheeljack's words echoed around the medbay, hanging in the stillness. Only the beeping of the medbay monitors could be heard.  
"Things change, Sideswipe," Wheeljack said softly. He wouldn't make optic contact. "We don't always get choices as to how."  
Sideswipe swallowed, grimacing. The movement hurt, but not as much as hearing Wheeljack's defeated, deadened and dejected tone. Once again, silence filled the medbay.  
After several minutes, Prowler began to stir on his medberth, his small face contorting in the throes of a bad dream. Sideswipe's helm whipped sideways, and he gasped at the sudden lance of pain that burned through his body.  
"Don't move!" Wheeljack pushed his hand down on Sideswipe's chestplate. "You'll interrupt the procedure."  
"Prowler…" Sideswipe inhaled against the pain as Prowler began to cry. "He's crying."  
"Don't move, Sideswipe," Wheeljack repeated. "Your neural lines are open. You have to stay still."  
"Wheeljack, he's going to online if I don't calm him down." Sideswipe struggled against Wheeljack's hold, but he was still too weak to mount any kind of real resistance.  
Sighing, Wheeljack turned toward Prowler. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked, defeated.  
"Is he online?" Sideswipe rolled his helm, struggling to see Prowler.  
Wheeljack peered over Prowler's little body, staring down into the blanket-wrapped bundle. "Not yet," he called back quietly.  
Sideswipe exhaled, then grimaced. "Good. It takes forever to calm him back down." He stared at Wheeljack as Wheeljack stood immobile. "Try and comfort him."  
"How?" Wheeljack whipped his helm over his shoulder, glaring at Sideswipe. "I'm not the best at this, if you haven't already figured it out."  
"Comfort him. Touch him, rub his belly, pick him up and bounce him…" Sideswipe hissed as he tried to move.  
Wheeljack glared at Sideswipe. "Don't move." He turned back to Prowler, sighing. Slowly, he reached for Prowler's fussing, crying and bundled body, and, tentatively, laid one of his heavy hands on Prowler's belly. Prowler wiggled, his face grimacing, and readied another heavy wail.  
"Gently," Sideswipe croaked out. "He likes his belly rubbed gently."  
Wheeljack sighed and started rubbing up and down, slow, gentle strokes over Prowler's midsection and over his blankets. Incredibly, and unbelievably, Prowler slowly settled down and stopped his fussing and his cries. He whimpered, his optics still offline, and then settled back down into recharge.  
Sideswipe exhaled loudly. "Thank Primus," he whispered. "I'd hate to have to call Sunny again."  
Wheeljack didn't stop rubbing Prowler's small and bundled body. "You guys touch him a lot," he croaked out finally.  
Frowning, Sideswipe stared at Wheeljack's profile. "Well, yeah, Wheeljack. He's our sparkling. That's what you do. Hold them, play with them, take care of them."  
Silence. Sideswipe stared at the back of Wheeljack's helm, his frown deepening. Just as he was about to open his mouth, Wheeljack finally stepped away from Prowler and moved back to his stool. "I wouldn't know, obviously," Wheeljack grunted. He fussed with Sideswipe's lines, and pointedly didn't meet his gaze.  
Sideswipe stared at Prowler as Wheeljack settled back into his stool and picked up his data pad. The sounds of heavy typing filled the medbay. Finally, Sideswipe spoke up again, his vocalizer hoarse and thready. "Are these treatments doing anything for me, Wheeljack? Am I getting better?"  
Wheeljack slowly lowered his data pad and peered carefully at Sideswipe. "Are you feeling any better?"  
"Not really." Sideswipe shook his helm, his optics wide and pained.  
Wheeljack shrugged, sighing. "It's probably still too early to tell, Sideswipe."  
Sideswipe swallowed and rolled his helm back over the medberth, letting his optics dim offline. "I'm sorry, Wheeljack," he whispered. "I'm really sorry."  
Wheeljack shook his helm. "It's for the best," he whispered.

***

Prowl was two dangling circuits away from a full-blown processor meltdown. His spark was raging, aching with agony, his engine was surging, and all he wanted to do was shout and holler at Jazz, shake some sense into him, and beg him to come home. He wanted to fall to his knees and sob, beg to make things right, plead to do whatever it took to make him come home safe.  
Unfortunately, there wasn't a slagging thing he could do… not for Jazz, not for their sparkling, and, increasingly, not for the Autobots as well.  
"Prime," Prowl said, his vocalizer hoarse and ragged as he spoke over the secured comm in his office. He was slumped at his desk, his helm buried in his hands. "We haven't been able to find any trace of the Decepticons since their attack on the space port. The military is still refusing our requests for access. They haven't given a single reason for their actions, either." Prowl swallowed heavily. His processor was running ragged over the multiple disastrous situations that had unfolded in such short time. "Have you been able to get anywhere with the Pentagon?"  
Prime, still in DC, was uncharacteristically angry. His optics were narrowed, slits of burning indigo, and his hands clenched at his sides as he spoke into the secured audio channel. "No," he growled, stretching the single syllable out harshly. "I have met with roadblock after roadblock." His engine rumbled, betrayed his anger.  
Prowl sighed heavily, his helm falling deeper into his hands. Only his elbows were holding him up any longer, propped on his desk. "We're being shut out of something here, but I cannot understand what."  
Ironhide's voice broke over the comm line. He was still in Washington DC with Prime. "You don't think the humans are workin' with the 'Cons, do ya?"  
"Nah, that doesn't make any sense." Jazz's voice, dulled by distance and fading in and out with static and a tenuous connection, filled Prowl's small office as he chimed in. "The Canadians and US armies came to help up in Nova Scotia. They got the slag beat outta them, and I doubt they'd let their choppers get blown up all for the sake of keepin' an alliance a secret."  
Prowl's spark clenched, somersaulting and folding in on itself as he listened to Jazz's voice. He couldn't speak, couldn't think, and Jazz's voice wrapped itself around his processor and spark until it was the only thing that mattered.  
Prime's voice finally broke through Prowl's pained haze. "… can't accept that. Besides, what would the humans have to gain from any potential alliance with the Decepticons? They've wanted nothing more than the destruction of Earth. I doubt Megatron has had a change of spark, no matter their current circumstances."  
"Well, that still don't get us anywhere near answers," Ironhide growled.  
"Which is why I've started my mission," Jazz chimed in again. His channel faded for a moment, replaced by static. His distance and their shared secured comm line pushed the limits of the system. "…aren't getting any answers sittin' around on our afts. This is the only way to get real intel."  
"I don't want you breaking any treaties, Jazz," Prime warned.  
"Way I see it, they already broke their end." Prowl's entire being ached at the staticy sound of Jazz's voice. He was so close to pleading, to breaking down entirely.  
"We don't want this getting any worse than it already is, Jazz."  
"I don't see how it can, Prime."  
Prime sighed heavily, a weary, angry mixture of frustration. "Get us answers, Jazz, and make sure that there aren't any more casualties on either side. The losses with the Canadians and our own injuries are already too much for 'peacetime.'"  
"Understood." Jazz's voice hiccupped through the static, a lance of shrill interference breaking up his single word. Prowl's hand clenched around the base of his helm, fighting to hang onto the sound of Jazz's voice.  
"We'll reconvene tomorrow. Jazz, send a coded burst to the Ark if you are unable to make the comm."  
Jazz grunted an affirmative, and the comm wound down, each mech starting to cut the channel. It was too soon, and Prowl's spark lurched. No!  
"There's one more thing, Prime," Prowl blurted out, his optics blazing. "It's Jazz."  
Silence filled the comm lines, and only the background static played in their audials. After an astrosecond, both Prime and Jazz spoke over each other.  
"What is it, Prowl?"  
"Really? Really, Prowl? You're going to take this this far?"  
The frown in Prime's voice could be clearly heard. "What is it?" he ground out, his frustration growing.  
"Jazz shouldn't be leading this mission, Prime," Prowl said carefully, slowly.  
"Why not?" Prime asked.  
Before Prowl could speak again, Jazz jumped in, his vocalizer hot and full of spite. "There is nothing wrong with my leading this mission! I am in perfect functioning order!"  
"Sir-" Prowl began.  
"Jazz, we have spoken before about your rushing off when you are not up to specs. You assured me that you would no longer do so. It is a risk to your team to have a malfunctioning leader." Prime's voice was carefully guarded.  
"I am functioning perfectly," Jazz hissed. "There is nothing going on that removes me from rotation or impedes my functionality as team leader." Technically, Jazz was correct. Sparkling gestation never knocked a mech from their duties until well into the secondary stages.  
Prowl didn't care about that right now.  
"Jazz," Prowl began again, his pleas threading through his vocalizer. His hands dropped from his helm and gripped at the comm box, squeezing it tight. "Please…"  
"Do you want to air this all over the comm channel, Prowl? Willing to let anybody or everybody hear this?" Jazz's words hung in the static, accusatory and too-sharp.  
Prowl swallowed, his tanks churning. Sunstreaker's mangled and badly abused body flashed before his optics, the medical report from Ratchet detailing the specifics of his injuries, and the work the Decepticons were trying to make of his spark and sparkling. Jazz's body superimposed itself over Sunstreaker, the twisted metal, gouged out sparkplates and devastated internals. Primus, but how secure could a channel ever truly be? The Decepticons were on the move, position unknown, destination unknown, purpose unknown. Was Laserbeak on their channel? Was he in the base? Was he over Prowl's shoulder? What did the Decepticons know? What didn't they know? How could they know anything? What stopped them from knowing anything? They knew about Sunstreaker thanks to a bug, a listening drop… Would Prowl be the reason they knew about Jazz?  
No. He couldn't. He couldn't put Jazz – or their sparkling – at that kind of risk. Primus, but Jazz was already gone, already out there and in danger. The specter of the Decepticons hung over Jazz in Prowl's mind, and no matter whether he turned left or he turned right, there was no correct choice. None at all.  
"If this is a personal matter," Prime finally interrupted, his voice deep and full of warning, "then I expect it to be cleared up away from the crew, and away from our operations." A pause. "Understood?"  
"Yes, sir." Jazz's voice was quick and clipped, another shriek of interference lancing through his words. It seemed to echo Jazz's irritation to Prowl's audials.  
"Understood," Prowl whispered, his voice hollow. His throat was closing, his vocalizer clenching in its gears, and if he said one more word, he'd fly to pieces. He'd simply fall apart where he sat. The pain in his spark would destroy him, just as certainly as Jazz's anger already was.  
"Get to work, Autobots," Prime ordered. "We have Decepticons to find."

***

Ratchet sighed as he peered over Skyfire's body. The shuttle was nearly repaired, but the delicate process of re-wiring his energon pump lay before him. The work was tense and specialized, and normally he relied upon Wheeljack's assistance with the microtools. Even Skyfire, for all his size, still required the precision microtools for his tiny capillary network. No matter the external superstructure, when it came down to it, every mech had the same set-up of sub-systems and CNA cellular systems. Wheeljack was the best mech when it came to helping with those tiny little systems…  
But, slag it all, he was tired of thinking of Wheeljack. He was tired of mooning and pining and missing him all the slagging time. He wanted to be angry, and for a while, he was. It felt good to be angry at him, and it felt good to blame him for every single thing that had ever gone wrong between the two of them. Every explosion, every experiment of Wheeljack's that went awry, every uncovered cube of energon, messy pile of schematics and cluttered data pads, every haphazard pile of tools. Everything. Everything was his fault. It was all his fault for leaving, and for breaking Ratchet's spark.  
At the end of the day, though, as he recharged in the makeshift hangar that he was using to repair Skyfire, he missed Wheeljack's arms around his body, and the crinkled optics that belied his hidden smile, his fondness for jokes, and his ever-present good mood. Primus, but Ratchet was sure that Wheeljack smiled in his sleep. He was just too slagging happy all the time. And, Primus, but he missed that. He missed him.  
Wheeljack saw the good in everything. He always worked to find the happy, though he made it look effortless, and always, always was the mech who could make things right. Why now? Why this? Why was this the one thing that they couldn't work through? Depression clung to Ratchet's processor, shadowing his thoughts and distorting his perspective, and it was one more thing that Ratchet just didn't care about.  
Prowl and Jazz's sniping at each other, Jazz's snarls mixed with Prowl's pleas and choked-off words startled his processor through his depressed fog, though. "I'm not listening to this slag," he'd snarled, and walked out on Ironhide and Prime.  
Ironhide followed Ratchet back to Skyfire's hangar after a moment, leaving Prime to referee between Jazz and Prowl's dispute. Ratchet stopped and stared over Skyfire's body, tiling his helm as his optics narrowed. He could get the work done in two days. One, if he had Wheeljack's help. He sighed, offlining his optics, and missed the sound of Ironhide stopping behind him.  
"Ratch?'"  
Ratchet started, then glared over his shoulder. "What do you want?"  
"What in the blazes has gotten under your circuits?" Ironhide frowned, circling to stand at Ratchet's side as he glared at the medic.  
"Just frag off and mind your own business," Ratchet grumbled. He tried to leave, hoping Ironhide would take the not-so-subtle hint.  
Ironhide wasn't backing down, however. "Hey!" he shouted after the medic. "What the slag, Ratchet?" He caught up to Ratchet easily, circling Skyfire's body as Ratchet ducked down near the larger mech's shoulder, crouching low. "You've been acting weird for weeks, grumbling and being a sore piston, and I know you're not recharging at night. Now you're shootin' my helm off for askin' about you?" Ironhide reached out and shoved gently at Ratchet's shoulder. "What the slag is wrong with you?"  
Stumbling and falling against Skyfire's plating, Ratchet turned and glared again at Ironhide. "Just drop it, Ironhide," he growled. "Or I will shoot your helm off."  
"I'd like to see you try, mechlet!"  
"Keep it up and you will, rust-bucket!"  
"This is your Primus damned problem, Ratchet. Mech's try an' help you, and you go off on them like an overheaten' engine."  
"Well, I don't want any help. I never asked for your interference." Ratchet stood, glaring at Ironhide. His fingers tightened around the wrench in his hand, shaking. "I'm not going to be your new pet mechlet!"  
Ironhide's optics narrowed dangerously. "The Pit blazes only know how Wheeljack's managed to stay with you all these slaggin' years," he growled.  
It was the wrong thing to say, the absolute wrong thing to say, and it finally broke through all of Ratchet's numbness, his pendulum swinging of anger and pain, and his cloud of depressed memories. All he saw was red, and pain, and rage, and he swung at Ironhide's helm with all his might, screaming as he did so.  
Ironhide, however, had too much practice on the battlefield, and his instincts took over immediately. He grabbed the wrench swinging inelegantly for his helm, then lashed out for Ratchet an astrosecond later. He gripped down around Ratchet's neck, then slammed him back against Skyfire's plating, pinning him with one hand as his other still grasped the wrench.  
Ratchet growled at Ironhide, snarling, and tried to kick out. Ironhide's optics widened, shock taking over as he watched the unguarded pain and anger leach from Ratchet's optics and his twisted expression. "Ratchet!" he barked, shaking the medic as he loosened his grip around his neck. "What the frag?" He ripped the wrench from Ratchet's hands as he let the medic go, and, wisely, stepped back.  
Ratchet's vents heaved, and he glared at Ironhide as he tried to hold it all together. The rage was ebbing, and in its place was only pain, the same pain he'd tried so very hard to ignore for over a month. "Slaggit!" he shouted, turning and slamming his fist against Skyfire's plating. His optics brightened, white lines of emotions criss-crossing their surface. Another heaving ventilation, and then he spoke. "Wheeljack left, Ironhide." His voice was gravelly, static filled. "He left."  
Ironhide turned and hurled the wrench across the hangar, letting it clatter against the metal walls. The echo burned around the room, filling the silence. "Frag," Ironhide muttered. "I didn't know…"  
"No slag," Ratchet grunted. He didn't turn around. "You're fragging right, though. Wheeljack left me because I'm moody and grumpy, and I'm not slagging happy around him anymore." He growled and offlined his optics, then let his helm fall forward against Skyfire's plating with a clang.  
"The only time I see you happy is with him," Ironhide grunted.  
"He doesn't think so."  
Silence descended over the hangar again. "Frag," Ironhide grunted again. "When?"  
Ratchet swallowed, letting his helm roll over Skyfire's cool plating. His red chevron rocked over the white plating, the tips scratching gently against the shuttle's already-mangled paint. "A month ago… No, longer. When I came out here. Right before." He inhaled, trying to stop the swell of misery building from his spark.  
"Frag." Ironhide shook his helm, rubbing at his forehelm with one hand. "Ratch'…" he trailed off.  
"Forget it," Ratchet grunted. He turned, pushing himself off of Skyfire, and tried to slink sideways past Ironhide.  
Ironhide was having none of that. "Ratch'," he repeated, reaching out with one hand to snag at Ratchet's wrist. He tugged, spinning Ratchet around and bringing him stumbling toward Ironhide. Ratchet tried to glare at the red mech, but he couldn't summon the energy over his cresting misery.  
"I'm sorry," Ironhide grunted softly. He stared down at Ratchet, his optics dark with remorse, and leaned his helm down until he butted forehelms roughly with Ratchet.  
Sighing, Ratchet leaned into the touch and let his optics fall offline. "I fragging miss him," he whispered hoarsely. "I can't stop thinking about him… Or about what I think I did wrong… How I must have drove him away."  
"You can't think like that." Ironhide's hands came to rest on Ratchet's shoulders, squeezing once. "Mech's make their own choices in life, whether we want them to or not." Ratchet huffed, venting air over Ironhide's faceplates. "It hurts, but it gets better with time…" It was a cheap line, and Ironhide knew it as the words left his lips.  
Ratchet's optics narrowed as they flashed online. If there was one mech who had experience with broken sparks, it was Ironhide. Two twin-shaped holes lay deep within his spark. "Like how it's 'getting better' for you and the twins?"  
Ironhide frowned and pulled away, dropping his hold on Ratchet's shoulders. "That's different," he growled. "I don't want to talk about them."  
"I didn't want to fragging talk about Wheeljack," Ratchet snapped. "I didn't want him to leave me. I didn't want him to think I loved a sparkling more than him. I didn't want him to think that the only way I'd be happy was to have a sparkling with him. I didn't want him to be so thick-plated that he wouldn't listen to anything I said to keep him to say." Finally letting loose, Ratchet's words poured out, echoing around the hangar as he bellowed at Ironhide.  
Ironhide's anger piqued in turn. "I didn't want them be fragging each other!" he bellowed back. "They were my mechlets! I watched over them from day one when they joined the fragging Autobots, and I loved them as my own!" Ironhide growled, pushing into Ratchet's face, and his fists curled at his sides.  
Finally, he backed down, turning away painfully. He swallowed as his optics dimmed. "Like I said… mech's make choices for their own lives, whether we like them or not." He grunted, trying to clear his processor of the memories of the twins.  
Slumping back against Skyfire, Ratchet exhaled harshly, all of the fight fleeing from his body. His helm tilted down as he stared at the floor. "It doesn't ever stop hurting, does it?"  
Slowly, Ironhide shook his helm. After a silent moment, Ratchet reached for Ironhide's hand, still idly clenching into pained fists at his sides, and squeezed gently. Ironhide squeezed back, refusing to let go.

***

Jazz didn't go back to his teammates right away after he ended his secure comm with Prowl and Prime. 'Bee and Mirage were standing guard at the base of the hill Jazz had trudged up, searching for the best signal for his transmission, and Jazz was laying stretched out on his front, the comms systems set up in front of him with the antennae splayed wide. Jazz glared out over the horizon. _Fragging Prowl!_ His engine revved, answering his irritation. _Who does he think he is? Where does he get off on trying to tell Prime to order me back?_ His engine revved again, softer. _Fragging Prowl!_ This time, when his engine revved, it was for an entirely different reason.  
Sighing, Jazz reached into his subspace and pulled out one of his extra cubes of energon, secreted away from the rest of the teams' stash. Alongside it was one of the tubes of additives, stolen from Ratchet's stores for the twins and Prowler in the medbay. He felt slightly bad about that. Jazz knew Ratchet's stores were back-up, but he hoped that they had enough to last while Ratchet and Wheeljack resynthesized the stock. Still, he'd done what he had to do. He'd had to get away.  
Jazz tipped the tube of additives into his cube of energon. It was already his second of the day. His body was craving as much extra energy as it could grab. Jazz remembered Sunstreaker's thirst for energon during their trip around the country on the auto circuit. How did Sunstreaker manage on just two cubes a day?  
The ore additives mixed with the energon, fizzing together until the mixture turned a brilliant, deep magenta. Jazz's systems purred, eagerly demanding the extra energy. Sighing, Jazz raised the cube to his lips and gulped down the energon as quick as he could. A drop slipped past his lips, trailing down his chin, and he caught it with his fingers. Not wasting a drop, he licked his finger clean, then crushed the empty cube and shoved it back into his subspace. He refused to think about his actions any further than simply fueling his energy-starved body.  
After collapsing and securing the portable comms system, Jazz clambered down to the base of the hill quickly to rejoin his team. Mirage and 'Bee fell in beside him, hunkering down behind the trees and the shrubs.  
"Any news?" 'Bee asked quietly.  
Jazz shook his helm. "Not yet. Prime and Prowl are being road blocked at every turn. It's up to us to get some real answers."  
"What's the plan?" Mirage shifted his rifle over his knees.  
"If we can't beat them, we join them." Jazz grinned as two confused looks turned his way. "We're going to play Decepticon." Quickly, Jazz began to outline their plan. "When we get to Virginia, we're heading straight for the DARPA headquarters. The Decepticons found a way in, and we've traced their hack path. This time, we duplicate their hack, and we follow them to the files they stole." Last time, they had only traced the hack forwards, trying to find the path the Decepticons had left as they fled, and where they had gone to. The humans had already taken care of their own security, and of their hacked files. "We need to know what's so important about that information." It was after the hack that the humans had clammed up tight, and had all but shut down their alliance with the Autobots.  
"We're going to need to do this fast. I'm sure they've upgraded their security since the hack." Mirage was taking notes on his data pad. "It still won't be a problem for you, though."  
Nodding, Jazz turned to 'Bee. "I need you to set up a false attack. As their security is focused on you, I'll slip in behind you." 'Bee nodded.  
"Do you still have Soundwave's code markers?" Mirage paused, ready for Jazz's answer for his encrypted notes and mission outline.  
"All of them. I can follow every electron he touched in there."  
"And if something goes wrong?" 'Bee watched a passing car drive down the highway. They were hidden behind the trees and brush surrounding the wooded interstate. "What's our exit plan?"  
"It will look like a Decepticon hack, and only us, Trailbreaker, and Prowl would be able to tell the difference." Jazz ignored the way his spark clenched at Prowl's name. "The humans aren't asking us for help now with physical attacks. Why would they ask us for help with another Decepticon hack? If it goes wrong, the blame shifts to the Decepticons and we pull back."  
"Still, it would be wise to avoid detection on this coast." Mirage frowned at their Autobot sigils.  
Nodding, Jazz agreed. "We'll run unmarked. Blend in." He checked his chronometer. "We're about 8 hours from Virginia. We'll get in after sunset. Plan to commence mission in 13 hours." Mirage and 'Bee nodded, synching their own chronometers with the mission countdown. "Let's move out."  
Thirteen hours later found the three unmarked Autobots huddled down in their alt modes in an empty strip mall parking lot in Arlington, Virginia. The streetlights were low, the shops empty, and the streets deserted. Several blocks away, DARPA headquarters sat in relative obscurity, one building amongst many, utterly devoid of any special markings or celebrity.  
"Are you ready 'Bee?" Jazz shifted on his struts, preparing for his own foray into the mainframe.  
"All set." 'Bee's headlights were off, looking for all the world like an old, parked, perhaps abandoned Beetle, and not like a covert Autobot planning a secret strike on the US military.  
"Mirage?"  
"I'm set as well." Mirage was parked in the darkness, out of sight, but had a full and unobstructed view of both Jazz and 'Bee, and of the street leading to their secluded strip-mall-parking-lot-cum-battle-headquarters.  
"Alright…" Jazz's systems gave an uncomfortable lurch. He hadn't been able to sneak away for more energon and additives since earlier that day, and his systems were uncomfortably low on energy. They were protesting, especially one key, and new, subsystem. He pushed it aside, trying to ignore the pinging alerts for energy. "I'm all set." His entire wireless path into the mainframe was mapped, every one of Soundwave's markers memorized. "'Bee, whenever you're ready. Start distractin' our 'friends.'"  
"You got it." Jazz could hear the smile in 'Bee's voice.  
Jazz was wireless linked to the periphery of the DARPA mainframe, just barely skirting the outer edges of the lapping energy waves. He could sense the pulsing energy, feel the ebb and flow of the automated operations. As 'Bee made his move, Jazz felt the energies shift, the alerts surge on, and the focus of the tide turn toward 'Bee's incursion.  
"I'm going in," he said softly.  
"Good luck," Mirage whispered.  
Suddenly, Jazz was plunged into the mainframe itself, his processor spinning with the flux and flow of the energies. He clung to his map, to the markers he had plotted from Soundwave's hack. The turbulent energy tides and surges tried to pull him from his path, but he pushed on ahead, tumbling and gliding through the slipstreams and eddies. There was so much energy, so much information. Jazz grunted, needing more of his own energy to navigate properly. He reached back, trying for more.  
His systems protested, already low on energy and resources. There wasn't much more to give, and he cursed himself for his weakness. _Slaggit, I need more power!_ Jazz forced himself forward, letting himself swirl in an eddy before slipping below and pushing to Soundwave's next marker.  
_Damned 'Con is at least an organized fragger_ , he thought, visualizing the neat and ordered pathway of targets and markers leading him to the secured files. He dropped lower again, leaving the swirling and heaving mass of the main energy, and falling to the secured zones above the different directorate's subsections. Soundwave's memorized marker pulsed ahead, drawing him closer. He'd broken Soundwave's hacking algorithms long ago, and it was sparkling play to track his route into the systems.  
The security systems suddenly took note, scanning over Jazz's energy and purpose with an abruptness that nearly startled him. He relaxed, pulling the energies of the mainframe into his own, wrapping himself up around the database, and let the security sensors roam over his own energy. He'd hacked countless systems, and he knew how to disappear from the network.  
Unfortunately, he'd never hacked a network while sparked before, and the sensors lingered around him, picking up on the extra vibrations of his energy field. Immaterial energy he may have been at that moment, but that energy still contained within it all that was him and his sparkling. They were inseparable, and Jazz had been working so hard to forget that point that he'd well and truly done so.  
"Frag, frag, frag…" he muttered.  
"What's wrong?" Mirage's engine rumbled in the darkness.  
"Security might have found me."  
"How?" Mirage's disbelief was sharpened by his shock. They'd been through hundreds of hacks, and the least difficult part of the process for Jazz was bypassing security.  
Jazz chose not to answer. Instead, he dissipated all the energy he'd collected and pulled from his near-starving systems, letting it fade into the network and mainframe as he all but disappeared from the grid. The security sensors scanned over his energy, over the dissipation of his form, trying to futilely trace the free floating and fading electrons. A few more passes of the scan, as Jazz slowly faded, and then they moved off.  
Gasping, Jazz waited as long as he could before reaching back to his hard systems. He pulled, yanking everything he could, pulling all the energy he truly didn't have out to his hack, following the wireless trail of his energy into the mainframe. He didn't care if it alerted security again. He needed it, needed the energy. The thin tendrils finally wound toward him, not nearly enough.  
"Jazz, what's going on?" Mirage's voice was worried and thick. "Your energy levels dropping."  
"Just a little longer…" Jazz hissed as he pushed forward, following the next marker as he dropped another level. Security's sensors pushed over him again, but he'd already been identified as a part of the system, and they let him pass unencumbered, floating down the far-more-narrow eddies to the substructure.  
Another marker flashed before him. "Almost there…"  
"Your energy levels are too low!" Mirage's voice was louder now, and Jazz thought that he'd moved from his hiding spot. He couldn't be sure. He couldn't sense anything outside his body anymore.  
The database stretched before him, algorithms leading to everything he wanted. He could get lost there forever, searching every finite string, and he briefly wondered how Soundwave had managed his hack so quickly. "Almost there…"  
"Jazz!" This time it was Bumblebee's voice. "Primus, what the slag is going on?"  
The files were flashing at him, beacons in the eddies of energy and swirls of data, beckoning him closer. The darkness was closing in, energy depletion chasing after his every move. He gasped, reaching for the information, and with the absolute last tendril of energy he possessed, Jazz pulled the data into his own slipstream, collecting the same information the Decepticons had stolen so effortlessly. Darkness closed in all around as alarms shrieked throughout his helm.  
"Jazz!" Mirage's voice hauled Jazz out of the mainframe, and the spy physically shook Jazz's alt mode. "Transform!"  
It was a whirl of energy, of light, and of cascading data as Jazz tore out of the database, obliterating all the markers and tearing holes through every subsection he passed. Security wailed, trying to catch him, but he slipped through the sensors, ephemeral and barely there any longer. He grunted, shouting through gritted teeth as he blazed back toward his entrance point. It was closing, the security systems locking down on the entire mainframe. He pushed, shouting and grunting and tearing as hard as he could, and finally, burst through the mainframe and slipped down the wireless pathway back to his processor.  
Coughing, Jazz transformed, falling instantly to his knees before he pitched forward and fell on his front. His bumper scratched against the asphalt, and his helm crashed into the wet, gritty ground. Dirt pressed into his cheek as his plating ground over the pavement, his vents heaving and systems screaming.  
"Jazz!" Mirage and 'Bee hovered over him, and both mechs helped roll him over gently. "What the slag was that? What happened?" Mirage was already scanning his systems, running a low-level sweep of his energy reserves.  
"You need energon." Mirage pulled a cube from his subspace and gave it to Jazz. Jazz shook as he reached for it, his hand trembling. Mirage batted his hand away as 'Bee sat behind Jazz and propped him up, steading his helm. Mirage held the cube to Jazz's lips and slowly helped him drink.  
Half way through, Jazz sputtered, coughing, and Mirage pulled back. "What in the Pit was that about?" Mirage asked, frowning. "That shouldn't have happened!"  
"No slag…" Jazz coughed again, frowning, and pushed off of 'Bee weakly. He fell to his elbows, still heaving heavy, pained breaths.  
"Did you get the files?" 'Bee finally asked. Mirage glared at 'Bee, but Jazz nodded. "Good."  
Sirens began to wail in the distance, long and piercing. They listened for a moment, triangulating the location and direction.  
"They're coming this way." 'Bee stood and peered down the road, trying to gauge the distance they had before the police could see them.  
"I wasn't careful getting out," Jazz choked out. He reached for the cube and gulped down the rest quickly. "They know they were hacked."  
"Great." Mirage stood and held out his hand to Jazz. "We've got to get out of here, right now."  
Nodding, Jazz let himself be pulled to his feet. He wobbled, unsteady, and Mirage was instantly at his side, bracing him with both hands wrapped around his waist. Jazz sagged against Mirage's body, gasping.  
"What the frag, Jazz?" Mirage's words were sharp, but his tone was concerned, and his optics shone with unsuppressed worry.  
"Just need rest…" Jazz gasped. "And energon." He nodded toward the strip mall. "Let's get behind there. I just need a moment." Mirage bodily dragged Jazz across the parking lot as 'Bee dropped into his alt mode, following along slowly. They kept their lights off, shuffling along in the darkness as the sirens grew louder and closer. Just as they slipped around the building, an entire squadron of police cars flew down the road and turned, heading straight for DARPA headquarters.  
"They know alright," 'Bee muttered, peering around the edge of the building and watching the parade of flashing lights. "They'll be conducting Decepticon sweeps soon. We've got to get to cover." As 'Bee spoke, the sounds of a helicopter rushing overhead nearly drowned out his words.  
"Frag," Mirage muttered. The helicopter's spotlight flooded on, illuminating the streets around DARPA and hovering over the police checkpoint set up at the intersection just outside the nondescript, silent, hulking building. 'Bee and Jazz may have been able to blend in, but Mirage would stand out like a sore thumb to any kind of street sweep or search.  
"I just need a moment," Jazz grunted. His optics were swimming, flickering on and off, and the cube he'd just consumed had already been burned off. "I need another cube," he muttered.  
"What?" Mirage crouched down in front of Jazz, peering into his faceplates. "Jazz, what is going on?"  
"A cube," he croaked again. Mirage pulled one from his subspace, his concern only deepening. Swallowing deeply and gritting his denta, Jazz reached for his subspace. There was only one way he'd be able to get enough energy to his systems to be able to move again, much less be tactical or effective to his team.  
Slowly, he pulled out one of his tubes of additives, and, with shaking, trembling fingers, poured it into the proffered cube. He wouldn't meet Mirage's shocked and electrified gaze as he took the cube from his suddenly limp fingers. Jazz dropped his empty tube of additives, and it rolled over the pavement, clattering overly loud in the silence. 'Bee whipped around, staring back from his lookout post at the edge of the building. His optics widened and his mouth fell open as he took in the deep magenta of Jazz's energon, and the empty additives tube lying on the asphalt next to him.  
Shame burned through Jazz, and he wouldn't look up. He swallowed as he brought the cube to his lips, and he hated every single astrosecond of yearning, every surge of his systems, as he hungered for the fortified cube. It was, again, a surrender to his condition, and this time, his entire team knew. They knew.  
"You've got to be fragging kidding me…" Mirage's whisper burned too-loud in the stillness behind their strip mall hideout, breaking over even the sounds of the sirens and the helicopters hovering overhead. "You're sparked."


	8. Chapter 8

_"Dear Ratchet…"_ Wheeljack's thoughts stuttered and stopped, drawing up short. He sighed, shaking his helm. This was harder than he thought it would be, and it was only supposed to be a simple report. First Aid had been badgering him – again – about Wheeljack needing to attach his addendum to First Aid's medical report for Ratchet. Wheeljack was officially off of the medical rotations, but since both Sideswipe and Jazz had insisted on him - and him alone - caring for their conditions, he hadn't managed to escape just yet. The report, however, was overdue and Ratchet was bothering First Aid for it, in his own special way.  
The trouble way, Wheeljack hadn't a clue what to say. Sure, there was plenty he needed to say – Sideswipe's injuries weren't healing, their treatment wasn't working, Jazz was sparked, for Primus' sake, and then had up and left and stolen half their supply of ore additives… and Wheeljack didn't have a clue how to deal with any of it.  
_I wish you were here,_ Wheeljack scribbled over the pad. _Sideswipe isn't getting any better and I can't muster the courage to tell him he's probably going to be disabled for the rest of his life, and most likely in pain, too. Jazz is angry, more angry than I've ever seen him, and now he's gone, and I'm afraid he's going to do something utterly stupid. I just don't understand why he'd take the additives, if he's just trying to-_ Wheeljack's thoughts shut off abruptly again, and he swallowed past the lump in his throat.  
_I miss you so much it hurts. I can't recharge, can't drink energon, can't even walk down the hallways without thinking of you. I left you because I couldn't bear to destroy your hopes of sparklings, and I couldn't stand to be around them one more astrosecond. I'm utter slag with them, and you know what? There hasn't been a day since you left where I haven't had to deal with Prowler for something or other. I can't escape. It's my lot in life. And now, I don't have you to share it with._ Wheeljack's optics dimmed as he lowered his helm, and this time, he couldn't push the rising lump in his throat aside.  
_I don't know what to do. I miss you so much. I still love you so much that it aches-_  
Wheeljack jammed down on the backspace control button, erasing all his scribbled text and mindless wanderings. It flashed out of existence, erased forever, and he restarted his report with a more official air: _To CMO Ratchet: Additional medical details on Autobots Sideswipe and Autobot Confidential are as follows…_ He couldn't bring himself to name Jazz in his report, not just yet. Who knew what the Decepticons were planning, where they were, or what they were doing? Sparking before was a joyous celebration. Now, after Sunstreaker's attack during his carrying of Prowler, it was a closely-guarded secret.  
Wheeljack summarized the barest key points as succinctly as he could and closed the file, then sent it on to First Aid. He sighed, leaning back in his chair and let his optics offline. It was so quiet in his lab. There were no experiments running, no tests, no new projects… no sparklings playing in the corner. No music. None of Ratchet's brusque check-up comms. Nothing, except the silence of Wheeljack's own processor and spark.  
_I miss you so much, Ratch,_ his spark whispered. _Sometimes you have to leave to make it right,_ he'd told Sideswipe. But what happens when that just makes things worse?

***

"We have to go back to the Ark!" Mirage was using that exasperated tone, the one Jazz especially hated, where he was derisive and cutting and condescending all at once. "How can you insist we keep going?"  
Jazz's jaw clenched as his hand gripped at the fortified energon cube he had been forced to drink. His energy levels weren't even that low, but still, Mirage and Bee had made him pull over and drink another slagging cube. They'd managed to escape from Virginia the night prior, just barely, and kept to the back roads as they beat a hasty exit to the southeest. Now, resting somewhere in the back roads of Tennessee behind an old, dilapidated barn on a road that seemed to take them further and further back in time, Jazz wanted to slag his team. Never before had he been so angry, so irritated and so frustrated with the both of them. "I'm fine," he growled, and not for the first time.  
"Jazz…" Bee had taken to sighing his name and shaking his helm, which Jazz was ready to shake him for. Mirage, however, was much more vocal.  
"No, you're not!" Mirage said loudly, stomping over to stand in front of Jazz. "You nearly sent yourself into stasis lock last night!"  
"I was under-energized," Jazz growled. "I need more energon, and I hadn't had enough. Now," he waggled the cube he was being forced to drink in Mirage's faceplates, "That clearly isn't an issue. I'm ready to purge the entire cube as it is!"  
"You kept information from us, Jazz. Information that put us all in jeopardy. What would we have done if you had gone into stasis lock, still trapped in their mainframe? Huh?" Mirage propped his hands on his hips and glared sourly at Jazz.  
Jazz glared right back. "It wasn't going to happen. There's no need to get all pissed about things that never happened, Mirage."  
Mirage's optics narrowed as he pushed a finger against Jazz's chestplates, right over his spark. "We are not doing that again," he hissed.  
Jazz counted very slowly to three, calming himself down before he ripped Mirage's hand off his armor, and quite possibly Mirage's arm off as well. Mirage was his friend, one of his closest friends, and that wouldn't do for their continued friendship, not to mention the continuation of their mission. "There's no need," he grunted through gritted denta. "We have all the information we need already. I got it all last night." He pulled out the data pad he'd downloaded the copy of Soundwave's hack to. "All we need to do is decode it."  
"And we can do that back at the Ark," Mirage said firmly.  
Finally, Jazz exploded, and he hurled his cube into the treeline with a frustrated roar, shouting back at Mirage. "No! We'll send it in and wait in the field! Who knows what this will say? We have to be ready to act, Mirage!"  
"You shouldn't be out here, Jazz!" Mirage shouted right back.  
That hit too close to spark. Jazz's lips curled back as he sneered. "Oh? And where should I be?"  
"Back at the Ark," Mirage snapped.  
All at once, Jazz moved, whipping around and decking Mirage faster than the spy could react. He tumbled, Jazz falling on top of him, and Jazz wrestled him to the ground with a surprising amount of ease. He pushed Mirage's helm face down into the dirt, pinning one arm behind his backplates with a twist. "Don't you dare try to tell me that I am weak, Mirage," Jazz growled. "Don't you dare try to tell me that this isn't my place."  
Mirage grunted, refusing to answer and refusing to give in. He struggled against Jazz, kicking out with his legs, but got nowhere. Jazz had trained Mirage himself, and he knew every one of the spy's movements and weaknesses.  
"I'm not fragging broken," Jazz shouted down at Mirage's helm, pushing on his plating for extra effect. He jumped off a moment later, and, with a glare thrown over his shoulder at Mirage, stalked off into the treeline for privacy. Mirage rolled over and watched him go, one hand reaching reflexively for his rifle.  
Bee moved over Mirage's shoulder, watching Jazz stride away. His optics traveled to Mirage's fingers, clenching on the stock of his rifle. "You alright?"  
Nodding stiffly, Mirage made to stand. Bee held out his hand and Mirage pulled himself up, his optics still locked on Jazz's trail into the trees. "He just needs to cool off," Mirage finally said, his vocalizer back to his prim and cultured tones. "We'll give him some time." Still, he glared at Jazz's retreating backplates.  
"Yeah, but that does not count as a cube. He didn't even finish that one before he chucked it." Bee shook his helm and turned back to his guard post, watching the fields and the distant road for any sign of the humans.  
Snorting, Mirage nodded, and he squatted down to watch Jazz with his long range optical scanners. Jazz had stopped, finally, and was resting in the midst of the forest, heaving great vents of air. Mirage was just about to worry, just about to comm him when Jazz pulled out another cube and another tube of additives and mixed them together before starting to drink. He smirked, though it wasn't a victory. "Don't worry, Bee," he called out sadly. "He knows he needs it. He can feel it."  
"Wonder how far along he is," Bee mused.  
"I wonder if Prowl knows anything." Mirage kept his gaze on Jazz's form, still drinking his cube.  
"You realize if the Decepticons know about this, or hear anything, anything at all, that we're all going to be a target, right?" Bee turned and gazed at Mirage, a squint-optic'd, scrunched up look on his faceplates.  
Mirage nodded again, slowly. "Jazz hasn't just made a target of himself," he replied, his voice soft. "He's made a target of everyone. You, me… even the others." He shook his helm, watching as Jazz sat down, leaning against a fallen tree trunk.  
"Never thought he'd be the one to get sparked," Bee finally said again. He'd gone back to his guarding, staring out over the fields.  
This time, Mirage didn't answer right away. "What anyone ever knows about anyone else is always circumspect, Bee." He sighed. "You know that. We all know that, now." Bee didn't answer, and Mirage watched Jazz until their teammate and leader picked his way back over to the group, several hours later.  
"We've got a comm from Prime."

***

Ratchet and Ironhide heard Prime's anger far before they saw him. Both mechs were working together to finish Skyfire's repairs, half dug into Skyfire's shoulder panels as they passed tools back and forth. Ratchet was struggling with the microtools, and though Ironhide volunteered to help, he was worse at it than Ratchet was.  
"You said Wheeljack is real good at this?" Ironhide frowned as he peered at the tiny capillary lines and the adjoining circuit connection.  
Ratchet nodded, frowning himself. "That bucket of bolts practically has microtools for fingertips." His frown deepened. He was trying not to think about Wheeljack.  
Ironhide nodded as he tried to fix the tiny connection within Skyfire once again. "What'd he say in his message from the Ark this morning?" He tried to keep his voice light, uninterested, but in reality, he was torn between wanting to get Ratchet overcharged to forget his troubles and his past, or return to the Ark post haste to tear Wheeljack a new system. He didn't think Ratchet would appreciate either action, at least not yet, but Ironhide was slagged if he didn't know that Ratchet was worth more than being summarily dumped for no good reason. Ironhide cursed as his hand slipped, again, and he turned back to Ratchet with a frustrated growl. Ratchet dug into the circuitry with his own tools, pointedly not saying anything, and Ironhide took the time to study his profile. Weary lines had settled in around his optics, darkened creases that spoke of his troubles recharging. His lips had firmed to a hard, thin line at all times now, serious and unyielding. Ratchet was irritable at the best of times, but his private pain had twisted into a sort of unending self-punishment and isolation. Ironhide frowned and bated at Ratchet's knee with his toolhead. "Hey."  
Ratchet tossed him an irritated scowl as he finally managed to seat the capillary circuit they'd been struggling over. He sat back, rolling his shoulders, and sighed as he looked away. "No, 'Hide, there wasn't anything special in the message this morning. All that was there was his addendum to First Aid's medical report."  
"Everything alright?"  
Ratchet sighed again. "No, not really," he grunted. "Everything on the Ark is completely messed up."  
Ironhide grinned, trying for humor. "Oh, so it's normal, then."  
Ratchet threw him another dirty glare. "Hardly," he snorted. "I need to get back."  
"You sure you're ready for that?" Ironhide frowned. "You're still pretty messed up about everything, Ratch."  
Ratchet threw his toolhead down on Skyfire's plating with enough force that it would have hurt, had Skyfire been online. "Slaggit, Ironhide, just leave it alone!"  
"I'm worried about you, Ratchet."  
"Well, stop!" Ratchet glared hard at the older mech. "I have to go back. Sideswipe is badly damaged, maybe irreparably." Ironhide's optics flashed, darkness seeping in on the edges at Ratchet's words about the red twin. "Not all of us have the luxury of hiding away from our pain, Ironhide."  
This time, when Ironhide's optics flashed, it had nothing to do with worry over the twins. "You don't know what you're talking about," he growled. He tried to turn away.  
"Oh no you don't," Ratchet snapped. "You try to interrogate me about Wheeljack and then shut down when I bring up the twins? Frag off, Ironhide! Just what are you trying to do, anyway?"  
"I'm not fragging interrogating you!" Ironhide shouted back. "I'm trying to help!"  
"You're slagging terrible at it!"  
"So are you! I don't want to talk about the twins, and I don't want to think about the twins, and I sure as all-the-slag-in-the-Pit don't want to see them!"  
"I don't want to talk about Wheeljack either! Or think of him, or see him, but hey, we don't get choices with all that!"  
Ironhide growled, pushing himself to his feet. "Primus, Ratchet, you are such a slagger! Why are you acting like this?"  
"Whose fault is it that I'm fragged off and irritated, Ironhide? I wonder!" Ratchet stood as well, slamming his tools around as he prepared to move on to Skyfire's next capillary circuit crossing.  
"Wheeljack's!" Ironhide hollered at Ratchet's backplates. "It's his slagging fault!"  
"No, it's yours!" Ratchet's twisted, spitting his words back at Ironhide.  
"Primus, Ratchet, even you are not this irritable on your own. He's not slagging worth all this anger and frustration!" Ironhide sighed, shaking his helm as the fight left his circuits. "He's not slagging worth all this."  
Ratchet froze as well, his shoulders slumping as he exhaled, long and loud. "I keep trying to tell myself that, Ironhide." He shook his helm. "Not working too well."  
Moving slowly, Ironhide walked up behind Ratchet and gently laid his hands on the his shoulders. He spun him around carefully, sighing as he did so. "Ratchet," he began, his deep voice rumbling. "Wheeljack is not the only mech out there." He smiled, though it was small and strained around the edges, and leaned forward, dropping a tiny, tender kiss to Ratchet's surprised lips. "You are going to be just fine." Again he smiled, thinly.  
Stunned, it took Ratchet a moment to react. He snorted, raising his optic ridge at Ironhide. "You putting the moves on me, old mech?" His voice was just teasing enough.  
Ironhide squeezed down on Ratchet's shoulders once, then released him and stepped back. "I'd be out of my slagging processor if I was," he replied, chuckling. He stared at Ratchet, then shook his helm. "I'm serious though, Ratch. He's not worth all that. You're going to be just fine."  
Ratchet nodded, his optics dimming. "I know. In my head, I know. But, my spark…" He sighed. "It just takes time, Ironhide. But, it's happening. Slowly." He fixed a pointed gaze at Ironhide before heading to his next repairs.  
"I know all about slow." Ironhide went back for his own tools, dropped on Skyfire's plating, and then rejoined Ratchet at the capillary circuit junction. "I still can't believe it's been six months since Prowler emerged." He frowned, and his words became rough as he continued on. "Feels like it was just yesterday. Can't seem to not feel like it was, either."  
Ratchet peered across at Ironhide. "I didn't know you even knew their sparkling's name."  
Ironhide nodded, his lips twisting. "I see all the pictures you show Prime, too." He shifted, uncomfortable. "Lil' bolt bucket really does look like Sideswipe." Ratchet had nothing to say to that. Clearing his throat, Ironhide pressed on, pointedly staring hard at the circuit junction he was working on. "So, what's wrong with Sideswipe?"  
Ratchet was just about to answer when an unholy commotion came barreling toward their hangar, sirens, horns and engines blaring. Ironhide jumped to his feet and off of Skyfire, racing to their hanger entrance to see what the fuss was all about. He stopped dead, staring agape as Ratchet joined his side.  
Prime was leading a parade of blaring police cars, sirens flashing and whirling and bullhorns blazing, demanding him to stop and pull over. Prime, however, was in no such mood, and he came barreling toward their hangar with nearly all of his considerable speed. He was honking, sending overly loud wales of angry noise shattering through the air. The sound seemed to scream over the hot, shimmering pavement, breaking the midday pall that had settled across the base.  
"What in the Pit is going on?" Ironhide grumbled. Reflexively he clenched his fists, ready for anything.  
Prime transformed with a screeching, tire-squealing, trailer-veering sideswipe at their hangar entrance, one so close that Ratchet stepped back several feet. Prime rose, his optics dark, as all the police cars parked in a semi-circle, creating a barricade outside their hangar. "What's Skyfire's status?" Prime said after a long moment, his voice low and rumbling far too deeply.  
"Almost ready to online," Ratchet grunted. "His systems are back up. We're just connecting the last of the grounding units."  
"Good." Prime's engine surged, roaring within his body. "We're leaving. As soon as he's ready to fly."

***

"What do you mean you've terminated our alliance?"  
To his credit, Prowl's vocalizer didn't waver in surprise or shock at all at Prime's pronouncement. Considering the myriad of other shocks to his systems and processor he'd endured over the past month, he felt that deserved a very special award. "The humans are our one, singular ally here on their planet, Prime. Where are we supposed to go for help when they kick us off of… their planet? Need I remind you that we are, effectively, stuck here?"  
"The situation is untenable as it stands right now, Prowl," Prime growled into the commlink. "I'm not about to continue wasting our time."  
"What's up, Prime?" Jazz's voice, as always, was scratchy through his end of the comm call. "What happened?"  
A heavy sigh filtered over the comm channels. Prime shook his helm, and on his end, he glanced back at Ratchet and Ironhide, standing guard behind him and listening in with one audial. "There have been some developments on the Decepticon front, and none of them have been good," Prime sighed. "There were two Decepticon attacks last night. Another on DARPA, and an attack at Fermilab in Illinois. They destroyed Fermilab, and they made off with an undisclosed amount of research and tactical material."  
Prowl and Jazz spoke over each other, static playing with their words. "Undisclosed?" Prowl asked. "Tactical? What's a lab got that's tactical?" Jazz's voice faded in and out with the static.  
Prime answered Jazz first. "Advanced particle physics, Jazz. From what I understand, they've just stolen enough equipment to manufacture weapons, armaments, and who knows what else." He addressed Prowl next. "And that's the other part. We're still not being told anything. In fact, now we're being blamed for incompetence and inadequacy. We're not being told valuable intelligence and yet simultaneously being blamed for being weak and allowing these attacks? No, not any longer." Prime sighed, a low growl filtering through. "I'm not going to continue fighting battles blind. We're not going to be putting our circuits on the line with no intelligence for uncooperative allies. Not anymore. Not while Megatron keeps advancing his mission unchecked."  
Prowl's processor blazed. He just couldn't understand how their alliance had fallen into such disarray. One day they were fine, sharing intelligence, battle plans, strategies, and the next… a complete shutdown. "I don't understand, Prime. How were they able to mass the resources for a dual attack? And, why go back to DARPA? Did they forget something the first time?"  
"I can't answer those questions for you, Prowl," Prime answered. "We don't know Megatron's status of forces, we don't know their strengths and capabilities, and we don't know what they did or didn't get from DARPA." Again, Prime sighed, heavily.  
"I, uhh, would focus my attentions on the attack Fermilab, Prime," Jazz said cautiously. "That sounds like the more immediate of the threats."  
Prime paused. "Jazz, I told you not to make anything worse."  
"I didn't!"  
Prowl chimed in, his processor still blazing. Irritation was rising steadily within him, heating his engine. "Prime's just ended our alliance, Jazz. I'd say the situation today is worse than yesterday."  
"I wasn't the one to attack Fermilab!" Jazz reacted hot as well, his finger shaking at the mobile comm unit as he shouted back at Prowl. Mirage slapped at his hand, trying to shush him down.  
"Jazz, we can't guarantee the security of this comm link," Prime said quickly. "Where are you? Is your team safe?"  
"Yeah, we're fine, Prime." Jazz ignored the heavy exhale from Prowl's end of the comm line. "We're in grid 47."  
"I'm recalling everyone back to the Ark, immediately. As soon as Skyfire is online, Ratchet, Ironhide and I will be making our way back. I want a full lockdown, effective immediately."  
"Yes, sir." Prowl began inputting data into his terminal, starting the lockdown procedure and the deployments for extra squads. "Prime, Jazz, what will your ETAs be back to the Ark?"  
"We're not coming back," Jazz jumped in, cutting Prime off. "Prime, not yet. We can't head back yet."  
"Jazz…" Prime's voice was a barely concealed warning. "We're not going to be welcome out there much longer." Prime grimaced, remembering the sirens and his police chase. "We're already unwelcome, in fact."  
"Prime, we've finally got some good information. I'm sending it back to the Ark for Wheeljack to look over. Can't do much with it out here, but it's going to help. It will." Jazz was insistent, his voice breaking in and out with the static of his channel.  
"No, Jazz!" Prowl's fist slammed down onto his desk. It echoed over the channel.  
"Jazz…" Prime's voice was still warning, still heavy.  
"Once Wheeljack gets the info cracked, Prime, he can send anything actionable back to us, and we can actually do something with it, start figuring things out for once! You can't pull us back now. We'll have no way of getting to anything after you lock down the Ark. You need us still on the outside. You need optics and audials… and everything else."  
"Jazz!" Prowl was growling now, ready to jump through the comm line and grab him himself. "Forget it!"  
"Jazz…" Prime sighed. "I don't like this. I don't like it at all, but you are right. We do need answers, and right now, your team is the only hope we've got."  
"Prime!" Prowl was too close to snapping. The pressures of Jazz, their sparkling, and the crumbling human alliance, combined with the Decepticon uprising, was tearing his processor and spark to shreds. "This is ridiculous! You have to-"  
"Prowl, I don't have time for personal squabbles," Prime cut in. "Jazz, you have 24 hours. Get the information to Wheeljack and see what he can decode. Prowl, we'll be back in 24 hours as well. If Jazz doesn't have our next move by then, you're coming home, Jazz." He paused, letting his words sink in. "Understood?"  
"Yes, Prime," Jazz said quickly.  
Prowl sighed, shaking his helm. "Yes, Prime," he said, much softer than Jazz.  
"Good. I'm shutting down here. Jazz, work with Prowl to get the information to Wheeljack." He paused again, as if he wanted to say something else. "Prime out."  
Suddenly, the channel was empty, just Jazz and Prowl filling the airwaves. Static looped around, hissing in the silent background. "Jazz?" Prowl asked tentatively.  
"I'm sending you the file now, Prowl," Jazz interrupted. His voice was cold, harsh. "Get this to Wheeljack immediate. I can't do anything with it out here, otherwise-"  
Prowl cut him off. "Jazz… Are you alright? What's going on? How is… everything?"  
Jazz's gears clenched as his denta ground together. Mirage and Bee, sharing the comm, turned their helms to stare at him, optics dark and knowing. Jazz looked away, unable to see the looks in their gazes. "Mission's fine, Prowl," he snapped.  
"That's not what I'm asking about…" Prowl's words were soft, barely breathed, faint whispers.  
"The file's transferring now."  
"Jazz…"  
"Stow it, Prowl!" Jazz snapped. "That's the last thing, the very last thing we need to be worrying about. It's not going to happen, Prowl. Just forget it. Forget about everything. Forget about us!" His throat clenched around his words, nearly cutting them off entirely. He couldn't be thinking about this, not now. Prime's words echoed in his processor, the humans' accusations of their inadequacy and weakness. He'd been trying to find the Decepticons, they all had. If he wasn't slowed down, slowed down and ruined by this thing inside him, then maybe they'd already have found them. His thoughts snapped back instantly to his recon trip with Sideswipe, up in Canada. He'd been ruined then, too; he just hadn't known it. Maybe they'd have found the Decepticons, if he hadn't been so weak.  
"Jazz!" This time, it was Mirage's voice that snapped his name, calling out in shock. Jazz had had just about enough of everyone's opinions, and his burning optics flew to Mirage, pinning him back with his rage.  
"File transfer complete," Jazz choked out. Prowl was trying to say something, but he ignored him, speaking over the channel. "Get that decoded as quickly as you can. Jazz out." His optics dropped to the comms array, and he fiddled with the controls, pointedly not looking at Mirage or Bee.  
For a long moment, silence reigned supreme. Finally, Mirage exploded, bursting at the seams with his own frustration and anger.  
"What in the Pit was that about, Jazz?" Mirage shouted. He pushed himself roughly to his feet, glaring down. "How could you do this to Prowl?"  
Jazz pushed himself up as well, glaring darkly at Mirage. "Don't dare tell me how to live my life, Mirage," he snarled. "This is my business. Stay the frag out of it!"  
"You are crossing too many lines here, Jazz." Mirage pushed back against Jazz's wrath. "You can't do this to Prowl. You can't shut him out."  
"It's my life!" Jazz bellowed. "It's not his problem!"  
"It's both of your problems!"  
Bee's optics bounced back and forth, trading from Jazz and Mirage's shouting, bellowing forms. Lubricants were flying from Jazz's lipplates, and Mirage's optics had turned piercing, screaming with icy heat.  
"What do you want me to do, huh? Prance home, lie in the berth, forget about my duties? Let the Con's rampage across the planet? Stop fighting? Give in?" Jazz's faceplates twisted around themselves, sneering darkly with his rage. It was every one of his worst fears, and more. It was what everyone expected of him.  
Mirage was shaking his helm, incredulity falling from his burning optics. "What is fragging wrong with you?" He sighed in exasperation, his hands rising to his hips. "You're not the sole mech charged with stopping the Decepticons, Jazz. No one expects you to save the world."  
"You just want me to give up," Jazz snarled.  
"I thought you were being a jerk before," Mirage snapped back. "But this is something else. I know you, Jazz, and this isn't you."  
"Oh, yeah?" Jazz was gearing up for another blistering round of insults, his frustrated rage and irritation spiking wildly within him, when Bee interrupted their wargames.  
"Contact," he grunted, peering into the distance. "Humans, the Tennessee Highway Patrol." Bee turned back to Jazz and Mirage, still glaring daggers at each other. "We have to move."  
Glaring fiercely one last time at Mirage, Jazz barked out his orders. "Transform and move out. We head west. We need to stay low until Wheeljack gets back to us with the information."  
"24 hours, Jazz," Mirage grunted. "24 hours, and we are heading back."

***

For once, Prowler was playing with Sideswipe.  
Sideswipe was lying on his back with Prowler sitting up on his chestplates, both of their hands intertwined. Sideswipe was making zooming and waving noises as he waved and whirled Prowler's arms and hands through the air over his body. Prowler zigged and zagged, leaning into Sideswipe's games as he giggled his little spark out. His optics were shining bright, lubricants dripping from his wide, smiling lips, and he was staring down at Sideswipe with all the adoration and affection he'd used to have.  
Sideswipe was in the Matrix.  
He was, however, worried about what would happen when Sunstreaker returned. He was due any minute, in fact, and Sideswipe was sure that Prowler would once again ditch him for his brother. Still, the fact that he'd got at least a tiny smidgen of the old Prowler and their playtime back was enough to send his spark soaring.  
_Speaking of the yellow-plated other half of my spark_ , Sideswipe thought as the doors slid open to admit his brother. Prowler instantly squealed, gurgling a happy shout of excitement, and he tried to wave his little hands up in the air. Sideswipe helped, raising his arms and his upper body up in a full waving dance. "Sunny!" he called out, play echoing Prowler's happy chirps as he rolled his helm backwards against the decking to stare at his brother upside down. Sunstreaker padded across their quarters. Sideswipe watched the parade of his yellow feet from the deck.  
"Hey," Sideswipe said softly, staring up at his brother, now sitting next to him. "How was your day?"  
Sunstreaker's fingers tickled over Prowler's belly and sideplating, sending their sparkling into more giggles. "Busy." Sunstreaker sighed, a frown emerging on his faceplates. "Something's happened. Something's wrong. Prowl's been locked in his office all day and the Ark went to high alert."  
"High alert?" Sideswipe frowned, but still bounced Prowler gently, shaking his hips. "Any news of the Decepticons? Did we find them?"  
Sunstreaker shook his helm. Prowler tried to reach for him again, stretching with his hands toward Sunstreaker's body. Sideswipe let go, letting Prowler's hand free to reach for Sunstreaker with all his little might.  
Moving carefully, Sunstreaker stretched himself out and laid down beside Sideswipe, stretching out on his back with his plating close enough to scrape together and touch. Sideswipe shivered at the contact, and he glanced sidelong at his brother. They hadn't been speaking much, and hadn't had any physical contact in a long, long time. He inhaled, holding his breath as Sunstreaker settled in next to him, plating to plating.  
Prowler squealed, then began slapping down at Sunstreaker's chestplates with his free hand, grinning as wide as he could. Another spittle of lubricants dribbled from his lipplates and landed on Sunstreaker's plating. Sunstreaker shook his helm and grumbled good naturedly, then grabbed hold of Prowler's free hand, mimicking Sideswipe's actions. Together they moved Prowler, weaving him side to side and up and down. Sideswipe added the sound effects as they played, zooms and swooshes and play explosions. Prowler's happy chirps interjected with every pitch and dip, and Sideswipe couldn't hold back his own beaming grin. Prowler was in his arms, Sunstreaker was at his side. Aside from the unending pain and the uncertainty of his entire life and future, things were okay, at least for the moment.  
The chirp of their quarters doorchime interrupted the moment. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's helms rolled toward each other, both sharing a confused look. "I don't want to get up," Sunstreaker growled, his optics narrowing.  
"It would take me 20 minutes just to stand," Sideswipe said, his helm rolling back against the deck again. "You're not expecting anyone?"  
Sunstreaker frowned back at Sideswipe. "Who would I ever be expecting?" He sighed, grumbling, and pushed himself to his feet. Sunstreaker slapped at the controls, waiting with an irritated expression as the doors slid open.  
Sunstreaker's irritated expression melted instantaneously as Prowl's devastated and anguished frame appeared, vibrating outside their doorway as electric sobs threatened to burst from his body. His doorwings were trembling, shaking behind his backplates, his optics were scratched with white lines of pain, and his hands were clenching and unclenching, shaking at his sides. Prowl's lips pressed together before falling open, words trying to come, trying to push out of his vocalizer.  
"Prowl?" Sunstreaker's shocked tone tore through their quarters, and Sideswipe forced himself to roll up, cradling Prowler close to his chestplates. Prowler chirped, tugging on Sideswipe's arms, refusing to give up on playtime.  
Prowl's helm shook as he tried to speak once more. Static crowded out his words, and his optics blazed as he finally fell apart. His helm pitched forward and he stared at the decking. His hands came to cradle his faceplates, shaking and trembling. "I don't know what to do…" Prowl finally choked out, the words physically pulled from deep within his body. "I don't know what to do."  
Stunned, Sunstreaker grabbed Prowl and hauled him into their quarters, dragging his superior officer-turned-friend into their home. Prowl stumbled, falling forward, and nearly crashed into Sunstreaker's body. Sunstreaker steadied him carefully, trying to peer into his faceplates. He'd never, not once, seen Prowl lose control.  
Sideswipe's mouth fell open at the display. "Prowl?" He shifted Prowler to his hips and tried to push himself up to his feet. Grunting, he forced himself through the pain and his unresponsive, sluggish joints. Prowler was wiggling, and it was all he could do to keep his balance. "Prowl, what happened?"  
Visibly trying to pull himself together, Prowl shook his helm and cycled his optics. He breathed in, ragged. This wasn't happening, it couldn't be happening. It was the mantra he'd repeated to himself all day, constantly, nonstop, but it hadn't helped a single bit. It was all real, all of it: Jazz leaving, taking their sparkling, the ruination of their alliance, the end of their time on Earth. Primus, but how had everything gone so wrong? Prowl shuddered, trying to drag in another pull of air. He was shaking, Primus, he was shaking apart, and the only thing he could think of was how warm Jazz's body was in his arms, and how amazing it had felt to be wrapped up in his embrace. Primus, he missed Jazz. But he was gone, and he wasn't coming back.  
And they weren't having their sparkling. The loss was physical, spark-rending, utterly destroying his internals and wreaking devastation to his entire being. They hadn't even talked about it…  
"Prowl?" Sunstreaker was trying to get his attention, trying to force Prowl to meet his concerned gaze. His optics were burning as they finally met Prowl's white pair, filled with agony. "What happened?" Sunstreaker whispered.  
Prowl swallowed, then squeezed down on Sunstreaker's plating. At some point, Sunstreaker had grabbed him, and his hands were resting, clenching onto Sunstreaker's forearms. He needed that contact, needed that grounding. He could feel his trembles vibrating against Sunstreaker's plating. Behind Sunstreaker, Prowl saw Sideswipe slowly limp into view. His optics locked onto Prowler, cradled against his chestplates and balanced on his hip. A new wave of agony arose within him at the sight. _That could have been us!_ His spark screamed. _It didn't have to go this way!_ He pitched forward, a new shudder taking hold of his frame.  
"Prowl!" Sunstreaker was nearly shaking him now, grasping his arms and forcing him to look up. "I'm calling First Aid." He scowled and opened his comm lines.  
"No," Prowl choked out, finally. "No, please. I can't…" He shook his helm slowly, trying to clear his clenching throat, his seizing vocalizer. "I don't have anyone else to talk to," he finally whispered. "I can't tell anyone else."  
Understanding finally trickled into Sunstreaker's gaze. "Jazz?" he asked, his own vocalizer hoarse. "Your sparkling?" His voice dropped again, a deeper, harsher baritone taking over.  
Prowl shuddered, and his optics rose, fixing on Prowler again. Prowler was mouthing on his wrist as he buried his helm against Sideswipe's chestplates, watching with wide optics at the sudden commotion that had interrupted his playtime. Prowler's optics met Prowl, locking on, and Prowl felt his spark shatter once again, breaking into all the thousands of dreams he'd once had about Jazz. "We're…" he tried. He stuttered, then forced himself to speak, his vocalizer rising as he stared at Prowler. "We're not going to have him. Jazz… He's so angry." Prowl's helm tilted to the side as he took in the soft roundness of Prowler's cheek, the curve of his tiny helm.  
Prowler's hand fell from his mouth as he shouted, chirping an attention-getting yell as he pointed at Prowl. He knew Prowl, knew him as an almost-parent, and even in his infant sparkling processor, he knew Prowl wasn't the same. Something was wrong. He chirped again, shouting as he pointed.  
Prowl crumpled, burying his faceplates in his hands. "Primus, I can't stop thinking about him. I can't stop thinking about Jazz, and about our sparkling…"  
"Did you two talk about it?" Sunstreaker grunted.  
"No!" Prowl's helm whipped up, staring wildly into Sunstreaker's gaze. "He fragging left. He wouldn't let me talk to him. He wouldn't let us figure this out." His optics were pleading with Sunstreaker, begging him for an answer, one Sunstreaker didn't have.  
Sideswipe was trying to distract Prowler as he moved next to Sunstreaker, trying to bounce him and shake away his sparkling worry from Prowl's pain. Still, Prowler was insistent, and he wiggled until he could stare at Prowl again. He pointed, staring between Sideswipe and Prowl, and shouted once more.  
Prowl's gaze was fixed on Prowler as well. "Primus…" he whispered. "It's the absolute last thing I need to be worrying about right now…" Prowl whispered, echoing Jazz's words. "And it's all I can think of. What he'd look like. How he'd grow up. Who he'd take after. What it would feel like, holding him in my arms…" Prowl's voice trailed off as his helm pitched forward again, electric sobs choking out from his vocalizer, hushed and strained.  
"Let's sit down, Prowl," Sunstreaker finally choked out, turning back to his commanding officer. He pulled, guiding Prowl's slumped and dejected body over to their couch. Sparkling toys and blankets were strewn about the surface and tossed over the back, and Sunstreaker tried to push them all aside as he helped Prowl sit down.  
Prowl's fingers pushed at the edge of a colored energon block. His optics fixed to the colorful surface, and he pulled it into his lap after a moment, turning it end over end. "Our alliance with the humans was terminated today, the Decepticons are attacking advanced particle physics laboratories, we have no idea what their offensive capabilities are now, we have no idea where they are now, or what they are doing, we're about to be kicked off the planet, Prime is trying to escape from being held under duress at the Pentagon, Jazz is off on a wild Decepticon chase with crazy intel, and all I can think of, all my processor keeps spinning over, is Jazz..." Prowl's words faded to nothing as he played with the cube, tipping it end over end.  
Sunstreaker didn't know what to say to that deluge.  
Sideswipe had tried to follow Sunstreaker and Prowl, but Prowler was fussing now, wiggling in his arms and shouting as he tried to follow Prowl's movements with his own optics. He whined again, wiggling in Sideswipe's arms.  
Sunstreaker turned, frowning over his shoulder at Sideswipe. Sideswipe shrugged, helpless. "Want me to take him out for a while?" Swallowing, Sunstreaker glanced back at Prowl, still focused on the toy cube and looking seconds from falling apart. He turned back to Sideswipe. "I don't mind," Sideswipe said softly. "We were playing. I'll try to distract him."  
Finally, Sunstreaker nodded, and he watched as Sideswipe scooped up one of Prowler's play blankets and scooted out the door as quick as he could limp. Sunstreaker stared after Sideswipe's backplates for a long moment before turning back to Prowl. He frowned, staring at Prowl's ruined expression. "Prowl?" His optics narrowed, watching Prowl tip the play cube, end over end.  
"How did you and Sideswipe deal with this?" Prowl whispered. "How did you two finally make it work out?" He couldn't look up from his fumbles with the cube.  
"I nearly died," Sunstreaker said bluntly. "Almost lost Prowler. Sideswipe tried to get us to run away." Sunstreaker shrugged, shifting uncomfortably. "We finally talked." _We don't talk anymore,_ whispered through his processor.  
Prowl winced at Sunstreaker's words. He shook his helm slowly. "I keep having these thoughts, these nightmares… all the time. That the Decepticons are going to find out about Jazz, and they're going to attack him, just like they tried to attack you…" Prowl swallowed, offlining his optics. "I can't get it out of my processor."  
Sunstreaker didn't have any words of comfort for Prowl. He wasn't the right mech to ever comfort anyone. "What do you want, Prowl?"  
Sighing, long and loud, Prowl's entire body seemed to shudder. His optics were still dark, helm hanging low. "I just want Jazz to be safe," he whispered, barely breathing his words. "I just want us to be back to the way we were… happy, and…"He could barely push the words out of his vocalizer. "In love."  
Silence stretched throughout the room. Sunstreaker inhaled, holding his breath as he stared at Prowl. "How did it happen?" he finally grunted. "Its… not what anyone would have expected," he added bluntly.  
Prowl finally looked up, an ironic half smirk lifting one corner of his lips. "Seems to be catching, hmm?" He shook his helm again. "It was the night before he and the others left for that long range mission. We didn't know what we were doing. He was trying to say something to me, I wanted to say something to him… it just happened." Prowl shook his helm again. "It was just once, just one time…" He shuddered again, "Jazz is so angry at me."  
"I was pretty pissed at Sideswipe," Sunstreaker said, looking away. His spark lurched at the memories. "I didn't want this to happen." His vocalizer closed up, clenching painfully at the raw truth behind his words. He hadn't asked for this change in his life: for Prowler, for Sideswipe's changes, for anything. But, what would life be, if it hadn't happened? He shook his helm. Too many questions, too many what ifs. "What does Jazz want?"  
"I don't know." Prowl's optics blazed. "This doesn't feel like him at all."  
Memories played over each other in Sunstreaker's helm, Sideswipe's same complaints, same protestations against him during their sparking. _Why won't you talk to me, Sunny? Why won't you let me help?_ He'd never felt lonelier than when he was sparked. Shaking his helm, Sunstreaker stared hard at Prowl. "Have you thought about how this is for Jazz?"  
Prowl's helm flew toward Sunstreaker, his optics burning. "All I do is think of Jazz. All I want is for him to be safe, and to be happy."  
"Even if it means terminating the sparkling?" Sunstreaker's optics burned into Prowl's.  
Dreams and desires, fantasies and hopes, all of Prowl's daydreams about his future with Jazz flitted through his processor. They screamed by, happy faces and laughter and lovemaking, a sparkling, a family. Growing old together. It all sailed past, then blackened, disappearing in a hot flash of pain. It wasn't to be; it would never be, it seemed. Prowl forced his words out past clenching, pained gears. "I just want him to be happy. Primus, I want this sparkling, so badly." Prowl tried to shake his helm as the static poured in. "But, not at the expense of us. What sort of family would that be?"  
That struck too close to home. Sunstreaker looked away, glaring into nothing as his own spark spun tumultuously. There were days when it felt as if he and Sideswipe were two separate families to Prowler, each operating on their own and only passing their sparkling back and forth. He and Sideswipe were barely speaking now, the distance between their daily routines and duties, mixed with the ever present and torturous tension, growing daily. Lying next to him earlier had been nice, but it was only one act in a sea of nothingness. It was all tensed circuits and twisted lines now around each other, anxiety and frustration. What were they doing?  
"You can't force things, Prowl," Sunstreaker choked out. His hands were clenched on his knees, fists balled on his plating. "If you're not meant to be together, if you're not meant to have a family, then don't try to force it." He swallowed, turning to face Prowl. "It only makes things worse."  
Frowning, Prowl stared hard back at Sunstreaker. He was trying to see Sunstreaker, trying to see his pain, but his own troubles were eclipsing everything else. "So you're saying we should terminate the sparkling?"  
Sunstreaker sighed, Prowler's faceplates parading before his optics. He'd made that choice, too. He'd gone so far as to lie down for Ratchet, let the medic begin the procedure. Whatever had stopped Ratchet had changed everything, and he wasn't ever sure if this was the way things were meant to be. What would life be like without Prowler? It was blasphemy to think, but he couldn't help it. Had he made the right choice? "I can't tell you that, Prowl," he grumbled. He stared down, looking away. "You have to decide what's right for the two of you."  
"I don't think there's a way through this. There isn't going to be an us… not anymore," Prowl whispered. He twirled the play cube again, fingering over the colors and smooth edges. "We're at two totally different places, wanting two totally different things. Primus, we can't even talk about it without screaming." Prowl shook his helm. "Jazz was right: we really aren't supposed to be together."  
The words echoed in Sunstreaker's helm, repeating in all the voices who cried out at him and Sideswipe. _Are we really meant to be together?_

***

 _Well, now what?_ Sideswipe had scurried out of their quarters with Prowler's play blanket and without a plan, and now that he was out in the hallway, he hadn't a clue where to go. Prowl, his normal choice destination mech, was currently ensconced with Sunstreaker, Ratchet was on the other side of the country, Wheeljack would really rather he didn't show up to his lab or quarters with Prowler, and Jazz… well, Jazz was gone, but even if he wasn't, Sideswipe wasn't certain he'd be welcome anymore.  
Prowler turned in Sideswipe's arms, staring down the corridors with unabashed curiosity. He turned back to Sideswipe, a small, wondrous coo falling from his lips as he grinned. This was an adventure to him; he rarely left their quarters at all.  
Sighing, Sideswipe started heading down the hallway. He shifted Prowler in his arms and draped the blanket over his shoulder. What a sight he must look like: former frontliner, take-no-prisoners warrior for the Autobots, now a crippled, limping parent holding a ridiculously happy sparkling. Sideswipe patted Prowler's backplates, feeling the happy vibrations of his sparkling's spark through their fledgling creation bond. "If only we could all be as happy as you, Bug."  
Without knowing where else to go, Sideswipe headed to the only place he knew: the Rec Room. If he stayed quiet, if he kept to the back, and if he stayed in the corner, maybe there wouldn't be any trouble. He was always the eternal optimist. Heaving a heavy sigh, Sideswipe palmed the Rec Room doors open and stepped inside.  
Nearly the entire off-duty crew was hanging out within, all winding down after their shift as they traded gossip about the all-call back to the Ark and the increased defenses. Someone was setting up a movie on the screen, trying to plug their own game console into the larger projection screen. The minibots, eternally parked on the couch before the Rec Room TV, were heckling away and generally being unhelpful. A few mechs near the door turned as Sideswipe entered, and they all froze when they spotted him, and spotted Prowler.  
"Oh slag," Sideswipe whispered. He forced a smile to his face and pushed himself forward, winding around the tables to the back corner. Prowler, ever the socialite and Sideswipe-to-be, chirped and shouted and waved at all the passing mechs. His optics were glowing, and a wide smile nearly beamed off his little faceplates. Optics and heavy gazes burned into Sideswipe's backplates, though, watching his movements as he limped along and slowly spread out Prowler's blanket before setting his sparkling down in the center.  
Sideswipe tried his best to ignore all of the staring. He reached out, tickling at Prowler's cheeks.

***

One mech kept watching, however, staring at Sideswipe and Prowler with his chin propped up in his palm, elbow resting on the table. It seemed to be the only thing keeping him up, and Wheeljack's tired optics drifted away from the data pad in front of him to Sideswipe and Prowler. Idly, his processor recognized Sideswipe's stiffness, the odd twist to his movements that spoke of lingering pain, and the slowness that hadn't been there before. He was more focused, however, on Prowler. _Figures_ , he thought. _Every time I try to escape…_  
Wheeljack forced himself to turn away. He gazed down at the data pad again, forcing his processor back to code breaking and to the DARPA algorithms. They all needed this information, and Wheeljack couldn't be wasting his time day dreaming, moping, or staring after Prowler. He sighed and punched another sequence string into the decoding matrix. His first thirty three tries hadn't worked, and his lab had become so oppressive with the silence and the stillness that he'd bailed and headed to the Rec Room. It was just too full of Ratchet, and too full of failure, for Wheeljack to focus.  
Of course, now the Rec Room was full of failure and Prowler now, too. Wheeljack sighed and shifted in his seat, trying to ignore the pair in the back. They were, however, remarkably near to his own table, chosen just so to be away from the crowds. His traitorous optics slid sideways, watching Sideswipe play with Prowler. Sideswipe's hands tickled up his sparkling's side, fingering along his neck, and then bopped him on the nose, the cheeks, and his chin. Prowler giggled, trying to reach for Sideswipe's hand, but Sideswipe pulled away, only to return with a scuffed and painted handful of cubes, pulled from his subspace. Despite himself, Wheeljack smiled behind his blastmask. He remembered making those for Prowler, back when the sparkling was only a fraction of the size he was now. Primus, how fast he'd grown…  
Shaking himself, Wheeljack turned back to his data pad, again. This string wasn't working out too well, and he canceled the sequence. Frowning, he tried another one, pounding away at the data pad with one hand.  
"That for Jazz?" Sideswipe's voice was pitched low, called just for Wheeljack.  
Wheeljack's helm spun, staring at Sideswipe for a long moment. "How'd you know?" he grunted. His audials lit up, flashing once.  
Sideswipe shrugged, staring down at Prowler. Prowler froze, staring at Wheeljack with wide optics. "Prowl came by," he said simply. Sideswipe left out the part about Prowl's falling to pieces, and the end of the alliance, and of his and Jazz's relationship. He tried to tickle at Prowler's belly, but Prowler didn't move, not an inch, from watching Wheeljack.  
_And here it comes…_ Wheeljack shifted again, trying to turn away from Prowler. He couldn't, though, and he glanced back, staring at the sparkling staring at him. Reflexively, out of frustration, his audial fins flashed a deep orange as he grunted. Any moment now, and Prowler would start falling apart, break into sobs and wails as he remembered that Wheeljack was the baddest, meanest mech he ever got stuck with.  
Instead, Prowler giggled, and his optics flashed as he raised his hand, pointing his tiny finger toward Wheeljack. He gurgled another giggle back at Sideswipe as he pointed, trying to get his parent in on the fun. Shocked, Sideswipe stared at Wheeljack as well, trying to see what Prowler was seeing.  
Wheeljack was not amused. "What?" he grunted. His audial fins flashed again, this time green. "What's so funny? He hates me." His audial fins flashed as he spoke, different colors and lights all bouncing around. Prowler squealed, giggling away.  
Sideswipe finally got it, and he smiled softly back at Wheeljack. "He likes your audial fins, Wheeljack. He likes the colors."  
"He's never liked them before," Wheeljack grunted again. His audial fins flashed, and Prowler giggled. Wheeljack turned away, shifting uncomfortably.  
"He's never really been in a good mood around you before." Sideswipe rubbed up and down Prowler's backplates as his sparkling giggled and tried to shift forward to his belly. He couldn't crawl yet, but he could wriggle and slide a few feet on his belly, and that was his movement. He was trying to do just that to get to Wheeljack and those flashing, funny fins.  
Wheeljack watched out of the corner of his optic. "Well, I've always been his punishment," he grumbled. _Wait, wasn't it supposed to be the reverse._ Wheeljack frowned.  
"That's not true." Sideswipe watched as Prowler wriggled with all his might, scooting himself forward a good three inches. His hands reached out, trying to grab for Wheeljack, still many feet and a table away. "Come play with us?" Sideswipe smiled at Wheeljack, warm and inviting.  
Wheeljack froze, ice crystalizing in his veins that plummeted straight to the ground, rooting him to the decking. Primus, but was he never going to be free of sparklings? Was this some cosmic joke, an eternally, all-forsaken, unforgivable punishment for some dastardly deed he'd done? He couldn't remember being quite so evil in his life to have necessitated such drastic measures, such daily tortures. What had the universe conspired, and why him?  
Slowly, Wheeljack noticed that he was suddenly the center of a not-so-subtle congregant of mechs. Hound, Blaster, Perceptor, a smattering of Protectobots and Aerialbots, and Trailbreaker were all off to the side, sitting at tables or standing about, trying to look as if they weren't truly staring with all their might at Sideswipe and Prowler, and watching and waiting for Wheeljack's next move. Sighing, he glanced down at the data pad. This sequence string was taking much longer than the first ones. That could either be good or bad, and he wouldn't know for much longer. Unless he wanted to look like an absolute aft, like the aft that he knew he was, he was going to have to –  
"Wheeljack?" Sideswipe's concerned voice finally made him move, breaking the pall of his thoughts. He pushed himself to his feet and thudded across the decking, each footfall a heavy surrender. Slowly, too slowly, he lowered himself down next to Sideswipe and in front of Prowler. For once, the sparkling didn't burst into sobs or try to tear himself away from Wheeljack at first glance. Instead, he grinned and scooched himself closer, working his way to Wheeljack's crossed legs and bent knees.  
"What are you playing?" he grunted. Self-consciously, he tried to subdue his audial fins' flashing, but Prowler's optics were glued to his helm, and the gleefully happy smile that graced his faceplates was too much for even Wheeljack to resist. He sighed and stopped holding back, letting his fins flash brightly as he spoke. It didn't stop the embarrassment, though.  
Sideswipe shrugged, grinning. "Whatever makes him laugh and smile." He turned a lopsided smile on Wheeljack. "I just tickle him and make funny faces and noises." True to form, Sideswipe leaned forward and blew a raspberry right on the top of Prowler's grey metal helm. Prowler froze, his faceplates contorting into shock and then wide-mouthed giggles, and he tried to both chase and escape his parent's silliness. Sideswipe laughed and kissed his cheek, tickling the underside of his chin. Prowler shook him off good-naturedly and continued on his scooting, wiggling quest to Wheeljack.  
Wheeljack stared at the interaction, his processor whirring. "You touch him a lot," he whispered, staring hard at Sideswipe. "I've never seen you not touching him, or holding him."  
This time, Sideswipe frowned back. "That's the second time you've said that, Wheeljack," he said softly. Sideswipe swallowed. "That's how I connect to him. It's how I feel him, in every way. We play physically, I hold him as much as he'll let me, and every little snuggle, every little hug, is just another affirmation that I'm special to him." Sideswipe's lips quirked up once. "And he's special to me."  
Wheeljack inhaled deeply and turned away, watching Prowler's crawl. He was inspecting the distance left between Prowler and his knees with a critical optic when Sideswipe spoke again. "What was your sparklinghood like, Wheeljack?"  
Frowning, Wheeljack straightened and scooted himself a micrometer away from Prowler's reach. His sparklinghood was quite normal, thank you very much. He was raised in a normal home, sparked from normal mechs, had normal toys, and went to normal schools. Shrugging, he said as much to Sideswipe. "Nothing special. No dark secrets, no terrible stories. I had my toys and my games and I played with them until it was time for academics, and then I studied."  
Sideswipe grinned. "Sounds boring." He elbowed Wheeljack playfully, trying to take the sting out of his words.  
Wheeljack bristled, his audial fins lighting up brightly. "It was just a normal life, Sideswipe. I didn't have parents that hung onto my every action and word as if it were a blessing from Primus." His words were too sharp, and he knew it as soon as he spat them out.  
Sideswipe frowned at Wheeljack. "I personally think Prowler is a blessing from Primus, Wheeljack," he said softly. "How many times was he almost not even here?"  
Wheeljack deflated, exhaling his vents entirely. "I know," he whispered. Prowler had finally reached his knee, and one hand was reaching for his plating. He felt Prowler's touch like a lightning bolt, shocking up his entire body. Prowler shifted, pulling himself forward, and then, grunting, pulled himself back into a sitting potion. Prowler was beaming, ridiculously pleased with himself. "It's just different," Wheeljack finally grunted. He held out his hand, hesitating, then finally tickled at Prowler's cheek. Prowler gurgled, giggling, and twisted his helm away, coy. "I've never seen anyone raise a sparkling, and the way you're doing it is so different from anything I've ever known." He sighed, then reached out again to tickle at Prowler's neck. "I don't know the rules here. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to be with him." Wheeljack swallowed, trying to stop his vocalizer from clenching up. It was the most he'd revealed to anyone about sparklings, ever. Not even Ratchet and he had spoken this honestly.  
Sideswipe stared at him for a moment before speaking. "There aren't any rules here, Wheeljack. There's no recipe for success, no process for turning out the right sparkling or the right sparklinghood." Sideswipe leaned back, stretching his legs out. They were aching, and he grunted softly as he switched positions. "You, of all mechs, should be a natural at this. Fun is what you do."  
Wheeljack's audial flashed as he chuckled, smirking faintly behind his blastmask. "No, fun was your area of expertise. Explosions were mine." He glanced at Sideswipe quickly, laughter in his gaze.  
Sideswipe chuckled right back. "Well, Prowler and I have been having fun. Haven't heard many explosions though." He winked at Wheeljack.  
Wheeljack gestured to Prowler, then let his hand stay, resting on the sparkling's shoulder before taking a hold of his tiny outstretched hand. "I'd say he was a pretty big explosion."  
Sideswipe dipped his helm, acknowledging the truth in that statement. "You used to have fun, though," he said softly, not wanting anyone else to hear. Wheeljack didn't answer.  
Prowler, however, was ready to play, and he was quite ready for the mechs to be done talking. He shook on Wheeljack's hand, waving his arm back and forth, and vocalized a low, long, grumble, mimicking a revving engine. He shook Wheeljack's hand some more, waving his arm around as much as he could.  
"Oh, I think he wants to play Drive, but I don't think I have the strength to hold him up right now." Sideswipe sighed, his exhaustion creeping back to the fore.  
"What's Drive?" Wheeljack let his arm continue to be shaken as Prowler made his revving sounds.  
"We were playing earlier." Sideswipe shifted again, pain tracking across his expression. "Lie down, Wheeljack. Set him on your chestplates and hold his hands. Make those zooming noises and wave his hands like you're driving a car."  
Wheeljack stared at Sideswipe, his optics growing wide. Prowler was still tugging and waving his hand, still making those revving, zooming noises in his sparkling way. Wheeljack, however, was frozen in shock.  
It must have shown. Sideswipe laughed out loud, then reached out to push on Wheeljack's shoulder. "C'mon, Wheeljack," he said, hissing after his words. His optics darkened as he slowly leaned back in his perch. "Prowler won't kill you, and if one of us doesn't play with him, he'll start fussing. Sunny's usually playing with him now, but…" Sideswipe shrugged, trailing off.  
Slowly, and entirely unconvinced that this wasn't the universe's best and worst joke every played, Wheeljack turned and laid down on Prowler's play blanket, stretching out with his knees bent up. Prowler shrieked, giggling with glee, and slapped at his hipplates. Grunting, Wheeljack tried to shift his hands, and then, fumbling only slightly, managed to haul the wriggling, giggling, happy sparkling up to his chestplates. Prowler perched easily on his bottom, resting right over Wheeljack's Autobot crest, and beamed down at him, optics glowing. His hands were waving, and Wheeljack slowly reached up, holding onto Prowler's tiny fingers with his own massive hands.  
Prowler was trying to make the noises that Sideswipe always made, trying for snorts and zooms and pretend revs of his engine with his lips and mouth. Despite himself, Wheeljack smirked, and the laugh translated to his audial fins. They lit up, and Prowler's face suddenly did too. Prowler grinned, then laughed, his happy sparkling giggle tearing across the Rec Room.  
It was only after Prowler led Wheeljack through a series of dips and turns, bouncing on his round sparkling bottom on top of Wheeljack's chestplates, that Wheeljack realized he was grinning as well. Sheer glee and complete happiness were falling from Prowler's optics, falling straight to Wheeljack, and they stared into each other gazes as Wheeljack slowly began to make zooming and revving noises of his own. If possible, Prowler giggled louder, his little hands and feet waving and squeezing on Wheeljack's fingers and sides. Wheeljack half rolled, pitching Prowler sideways before righting himself, and he flashed his audials as he mock revved his own vocal engine, growling low in his vocalizer. Prowler shrieked, grinning madly.  
Next to them both, Sideswipe was smiling, watching Prowler have the time of his life in Wheeljack's arms.  
It was between a tire-screeching dip and roll and Prowler's innumerable happy, delighted squeal of laughter that Wheeljack himself finally realized he was having fun. The thought was so startling, so surprising, that he nearly came up short, ruining the game. He stuttered, choking on clenched gears for a moment, and forced his vocalizer clear. The game slowed, his noises more subdued, and Prowler watched him with wide, trusting optics, adoration and pure happiness shining forth. Wheeljack's spark clenched, suddenly twisting and tearing itself apart.  
Was this was Sideswipe and Sunstreaker got to see, every day? This happiness, the eternal, unending, loveable happiness? Prowler, who had always, always been miserable and horrified to see Wheeljack, was now suddenly basking in his attention and gazing down at him as if he were the best playmate in the whole world. All of his attention was focused on Wheeljack. And, almost as surprisingly, all of Wheeljack's attentions were equally focused back on Prowler.  
It was in Prowler's next giggle, the next tiny tickle of his lips upward, the shine of his optics as he beamed down at Wheeljack, that Wheeljack saw, truly saw, with the wonder of a mech gazing at the hanging gardens of Praxus, or looking at their spark of their beloved for the first time, what it all meant, and he knew that he had entirely missed it before. It was all so shockingly, surprisingly, stupendously easy that it couldn't be just this. It couldn't be. It couldn't be this easy to love, and to play, and to suddenly remake your entire world.  
Wheeljack realized, quite suddenly and abruptly, that there wasn't a magic formula. There wasn't the right word, the right combination of toys and academics, the perfect mixture of what to do and say and think. There was just laughter and love. It was everything that had ever been in his life, suddenly made large, and suddenly writ into the programming of a sparkling. All he'd done, all the meaning in his adult life had been in laugh and to love – hold the Autobots together, hold Ratchet together, hold his sanity together. Suddenly, here in his arms, balanced on his chestplates, was a sparkling who yearned for laughter and love. He yearned for life, for the simple joys of being allowed to explore and to live. It was just so simple, all of it.  
"Primus…" Wheeljack whispered. His optics burned into Prowler's, as if he could divine the answers to the million questions that suddenly burned out of his spark from Prowler's happy gaze.  
"Wheeljack?" Sideswipe struggled to push himself closer. "Are you alright?" He reached out, trying to touch Wheeljack's shoulder. Prowler and Wheeljack had suddenly gone very still, very quiet, and were staring each other down, gazes hot and intense. It was an intensity Sideswipe had never seen before, not on Prowler's face, but he was staring at Wheeljack as if burning his faceplates into his processor, memorizing every line and fractal of his optics.  
Frozen, Wheeljack could only stare back into Prowler's gaze. How could he have been so incredibly, utterly stupid? The sparkling was laying him bare, filleting him open to the base of his protoform, and only his hands gripping onto Prowler's tiny fingers were anchoring him to reality. Everything was different, entirely so, so suddenly, and all of Wheeljack's signposts, all of his understanding in the universe was suddenly torn out as false. Everything he was, all that he had done, all of his actions, was utterly, irrevocably cast as pale against the sheer power of this new life. What could he ever make, ever create, ever produce, ever imagine that would ever dare to come close to the intricacy, detail and wonder of a new life? How could his life have meaning, without the depth of this kind of love?  
"Wheeljack?" Sideswipe had pushed through the tiredness and the frustration and had scooted up alongside Wheeljack and Prowler. He reached out, smoothing his hand down Prowler's helm and backplates. Prowler instantly turned, beaming a cheerful grin at Sideswipe. He pulled his hands from Wheeljack's and reached for Sideswipe.  
Carefully, Sideswipe lifted Prowler off of the Lancia, pulling him into his arms. He stared down at Wheeljack, concerned. "You alright?"  
Wheeljack stared after Prowler, watching the sparkling turn his glorious, happy optics and wondrous gaze back to Sideswipe, his parent. Prowler reached out, one happy hand patting over Sideswipe's faceplates as he giggled. The keen sense of loss, swiftly followed by a spike of jealousy toward Sideswipe, shocked him, surprising him to his very spark. "Primus," he whispered again.  
Sideswipe stared hard, his gaze intense. Wheeljack finally shook himself back to reality. "I'm fine, Sideswipe," he said, chuckling. "I'm fine." He dusted himself off as he sat up, swiveling around until he was seated across from Sideswipe and Prowler once again. He couldn't take his optics off of Prowler, and his spark was still churning, still wildly pulsing and sparking in never-before-felt ways.  
The rest of the onlookers had finally decided to meander over to Sideswipe and Wheeljack. Hound, the goofiest of them all - though it was a tough call with Silverbolt and Fireflight there as well - peered over the edge of Wheeljack's formerly lonely table, staring down at Sideswipe's little play corner. "Hey," Hound called out softly. He waited, his optics guarded. Behind him, Blaster stood, watching as well, along with Silverbolt and Hot Spot.  
Sideswipe turned and stared back at Hound, his former squad mate, friend, and one time berthmate. "Hey," he called back, just as softly, smiling. Prowler wiggled, wanting to be let down, and Sideswipe broke optic contact to lower him back to the play blanket. Prowler instantly rolled toward Wheeljack, reaching for his arms.  
Wheeljack quickly pulled him up, holding him in his arms against his chestplates as if it were the most natural act in the world, and not as if he were utterly terrified of him, as he had been before.  
Hound smiled, watching Wheeljack. "'Jack, looks like you're a natural!" He slowly lowered himself into one of the empty chairs at Wheeljack's old table, settling in nearby to watch and interact… if only from a distance. Blaster followed a moment later.  
Perceptor, however, had no such compunctions about holding back. Surprised, and knowing Wheeljack's personal reticence against sparklings, he promptly moved to the edge of Prowler's play blanket and stared down at the threesome. "Wheeljack," Perceptor exclaimed. "This is a most surprising development. I was unaware you even knew how to properly hold a sparkling."  
Wheeljack's audial fins flashed in embarrassment, which Prowler found eminently delightful. Prowler reached out, grabbing ahold of one of the fins, and shouted in excitement. "Well," Wheeljack shrugged. "I figured a few things out." He glanced at Sideswipe briefly as his arms wound around Prowler. Carefully, he pushed his forehelm up against Prowler's much smaller helm, until they were nearly optic to optic. Grinning behind his blast mask, Wheeljack onlined his audial fins, flashing them on and off, whirling through the colors.  
Prowler shrieked with laughter, giggling away.  
Hound and Blaster shared a warm look, then turned their smiles to Sideswipe, who was beaming as well. Surprised at their friendly expressions, he nodded back, though was unable to say anything. His gears were clenching too hard in his throat. Primus, it was almost like old times.  
Perceptor sat down with Wheeljack for a few minutes, and Wheeljack suddenly had Prowler playing with Perceptor, a game of hand slapping and soft chirps. Prowler glanced back at Sideswipe every minute or so, making sure that he was still there, but Sideswipe smiled back every time. Perceptor, Hound and Blaster set up camp at Wheeljack's table, watching the playtime from a distance. It was nearly magical to Sideswipe. His friends were almost talking to him again, Wheeljack was actually playing with Prowler, and for a slight moment, it hadn't felt as if his body was going to fall apart at his seams. Sideswipe tipped his helm back happily, dimming his optics.

***

When he onlined them, he was staring straight up at Smokescreen, looming above.  
Jerking, Sideswipe started, gasping. His movements sent pain flaring through his legs, and he hissed at the burning. He tried to straighten, tried to right himself, but the pain was spreading and all he could do to make it better was to stand. Standing helped, for some odd reason. Grunting, Sideswipe pushed himself up, slowly.  
Smokescreen's hand reached out, offering to help him stand and steady himself. Cautiously, Sideswipe took it. It wasn't until he was steady that he dared look into Smokescreen's faceplates, however. Their entire back corner of the Rec Room had gone silent, all vents hushed, waiting for some reaction.  
Shockingly, Smokescreen smiled at Sideswipe. "Hi," Smokescreen said simply, his voice soft. After a moment, his optics slid to Prowler. The sparkling was staring up at Sideswipe, locked onto to his parent and fussing to be returned to his arms.  
Sideswipe bent and picked him up, taking him from Wheeljack's playtime once again. Wheeljack stayed on the play blanket, watching with wide optics as Sideswipe turned back to Smokescreen. "Hey," Sideswipe finally answered. He bounced Prowler gently in his arms as he checked his internal chronometer. It was nearly time for Prowler to fall into recharge.  
Smokescreen smiled again and carefully reached out, brushing one finger against Prowler's cheek. Prowler smiled, but pitched forward and buried his helm and face against Sideswipe's chestplates before rolling his helm to the side. He stared at Smokescreen with one optic as he began mouthing at his wrist. "Primus, he really does look like you," Smokescreen said, his voice still soft.  
Sideswipe never knew what to say when everyone said that. He was damn proud Prowler looked like him. He smiled, though it was thin, and rolled Prowler in his arms, lying him back as he onlined his feeding line and positioned his wrist for Prowler to suck at. Prowler's hands came up, gripping at his fingers and his wristplates, and Sideswipe relaxed into their regular feeding ritual.  
Except, he'd forgotten that of the bunch, only Wheeljack had ever seen him feed Prowler from his own lines. From the looks he was getting, most mechs hadn't a clue what he'd just done. Hound's optics were wide, Blaster's shocked, and Smokescreen's mouth had fallen open.  
Shifting, Sideswipe glanced down at Wheeljack. "Can I get the blanket?"  
Wordlessly, Wheeljack tossed it up to Sideswipe, then pushed himself to his feet and shuffled back to his table. He was embarrassed and rubbed raw by too much too soon. Wheeljack's optics flared as he grabbed his data pad, and he scooped it up and tore off without another word.  
Sideswipe watched him go as he laid the blanket over Prowler's reclining snuggle, covering the sight of their feeding. "Sorry," he mumbled, fussing with the blanket. He hadn't ever expected to be feeding his sparkling in front of his former friends. He hadn't ever thought about what he'd say in such an instance.  
"Wow," Smokescreen finally said, breaking the silence. "I had kind of wondered how that worked." He smiled, though it looked a bit strained. "Now I know."  
Smiling tentatively back in return, Sideswipe started rocking Prowler. "How are you?" he asked carefully. It could mean anything, from how was he doing after their battle to how was he doing after Sideswipe ruined his life. Slowly, Hound, Blaster and Perceptor all folded themselves away, fading back to the Rec Room at large. They joined the mass of mechs congregating around the TV.  
Smokescreen took Sideswipe's question somewhere in the middle, and waited for everyone to leave first. He nodded, shrugging his shoulders as the same time. "I'm doing alright," he said slowly. He chewed on his lip for a moment before speaking again. "You look happy." He gestured to Prowler. "Being a parent suits you."  
Finally smiling truly, Sideswipe nodded, his optics burning as he met Smokescreen's gaze. "I'm happy with Prowler, yeah," he said softly. He pulled the blanket a bit, sneaking a peek at his sparkling's faceplates. Prowler was getting sleepy, his optics dim.  
"How are you feeling?" Smokescreen asked, watching Sideswipe carefully. "You still look stiff."  
"They can't heal all the damage." Sideswipe rolled his neck, remembering the pain all to clearly.  
"I'm sorry to hear that." It was, perhaps, the most sincerely Sideswipe had ever heard Smokescreen speak. He stared at the doorwinger for a long moment, holding his gaze, expecting to see some dark victory, some stain of contempt. Instead, only concern and tiredness gazed back at him, layered upon each other.  
"Thanks," Sideswipe whispered. He bounced Prowler gently, cradling him close. Smokescreen tried to twist his helm to see Prowler better, and Sideswipe turned, stepping closer. They were nearly plating to plating now, side by side, and Smokescreen stared around Sideswipe's shoulder at Prowler's sleepy faceplates as he suckled on his energon line.  
"He's gorgeous," Smokescreen whispered. He turned his helm, staring at Sideswipe, and Sideswipe turned, staring right back at him. Smokescreen's optics were tentative, nervous, but deep within there was a tendril of hope, and of warmth.

***

It was at that moment, when Smokescreen and Sideswipe were side by side, plating nearly touching, nose nearly to nose, with Smokescreen smile warmly at Sideswipe, that Sunstreaker walked into the Rec Room looking for his brother.  
It was the last thing Sunstreaker ever wanted to see, ever again: Sideswipe and Smokescreen, together, smiling at each other. Instantly he was transported back, standing at the Rec Room doors in another time, walking in on his brother and Smokescreen's smiling, tender kiss. He'd known, he'd known for so slagging long that his brother couldn't be true, and couldn't ever truly be with him. He'd known it then, deeply, purely, but Sideswipe had pleaded, begging and protesting and refusing to leave, and somewhere along the line, Sunstreaker had caved and given in.  
Oh, what a fool he'd been. Rage, followed quickly by bitter certainty and the frustration of proving himself right, closed in around Sunstreaker's spark. He knew this would happen. He knew it. He'd known as soon as Sideswipe had been picked for that slagging mission, off alone with Smokescreen, and he'd known it when Smokescreen had smiled down at his brother, his hands trailing over his plating. Primus, Sunstreaker had even asked him, slagging begged him to have nothing to do with Smokescreen. Did his promise to Sunstreaker mean so little? Did Sunstreaker's fear, his pain, mean so slagging little to Sideswipe?  
Sideswipe wasn't going to stay with him. He never was. He never would. He'd never keep his word. He hadn't slagging ever.  
Smokescreen saw Sunstreaker's entrance before Sideswipe. Sideswipe was tucking Prowler's blanket back around his helm, smiling as he gently rocked his sparkling, and missed entirely the frozen storm of rage spiking within Sunstreaker's stock-still frame. Sunstreaker froze as soon as he'd entered the Rec Room and caught sight of Smokescreen and Sideswipe, but the hush that had fallen over the room was enough to cause Smokescreen to glance up. Their optics met, and Smokescreen's doorwings shifted, arching high as he inhaled, holding his breath. _This isn't going to be good…_  
Slowly, Sunstreaker moved again, and this time, Sideswipe met his gaze. Sideswipe's smile vanished instantly, naked shock lined with fear replacing his expression. He froze, not even breathing as Sunstreaker drew near. He could feel the visceral waves of rage and wrath, mixed with a bitterness and sense of loss, emanating from his brother, spark-deep. Their optics locked onto one another's, refusing to break.  
Smokescreen's doorwings continued to rise, and as Sunstreaker finally stopped before his brother, Smokescreen chanced to speak. "Hi Sunstreaker," he choked out, forcing politeness and an evenness he didn't feel to his vocalizer.  
The look Sunstreaker fixed him with would have burned Megatron to a crisp, melting his very protoform. Smokescreen's vents stopped working all together as he was pinned back by the viciousness of the gaze, the utter brutality and raw, naked pain that Sunstreaker couldn't fully hide.  
"Sunny?" Sideswipe whispered. He tried to reach for Sunstreaker's arm, but his brother pulled away.  
Instead, Sunstreaker reached for Prowler, and he pulled the now-recharging sparkling from Sideswipe's arms without ever touching Sideswipe's plating. Prowler wiggled, then resettled against Sunstreaker's chestplates, sighing happily. Sunstreaker spared one glance down to his sparkling, checking to make sure he was comfortable, and then fixed Sideswipe with the same burning, raging, anguished stare.  
"You shouldn't come back tonight," Sunstreaker growled, his vocalizer too-deep. "Go be with who you want," he grunted. "And where you're wanted." He turned quickly and walked away, trying to put as much distance between himself and Sideswipe as he possibly could. It hurt too much to look back and see him standing next to Smokescreen.

***

Smokescreen exhaled as Sunstreaker slipped out of the Rec room, his doorwings flaring wide. "What the slag was that about?" He turned to Sideswipe, frowning.  
Sideswipe was trembling, his body quivering as his entire world stalked out of the Rec Room, leaving him behind. His optics were fritzing, white lines of pain and disbelief streaking across their surfaces, and his lipplates were working over silent, tortured words. "Sunny…" Sideswipe whispered, static filling the word.  
"Siders?" Smokescreen reached out, touching Sideswipe's trembling elbow gently.  
All at once, Sideswipe whirled, backing away from Smokescreen as quick as his trembling, stiff body could take him. He was doubling over, holding his hand to his mouth, as if he'd fly apart if he couldn't physically hold himself together. "No," he whispered, his vocalizer shaking. "No, no, no… Primus, I'm not supposed to be talking to you! I'm not supposed to have anything to do with you!" He gasped, drawing in a ragged breath of air.  
Frowning, Smokescreen's hands rose to his hips. "What are you talking about?"  
Sideswipe couldn't hold it back any longer, and a static-filled sob burst from his lips. "Primus, Sunny!" He shook his helm, looking down. "I promised him… I promised him I would prove it to him…" Sideswipe looked up, staring at Smokescreen. His optics were pleading, begging Smokescreen to understand.  
Smokescreen didn't have a clue. He stared back, his mouth slowly falling open, and finally, Sideswipe pulled himself together enough to stumble after his brother and out of the Rec Room. Smokescreen watched him with narrowed optics, his processor screaming.  
"What the slag was all that about?" a sulking vocalizer called out to Smokescreen from a table a respectable distance away. Turning, Smokescreen knew who it was before he even laid optics on the mech: Bluestreak. He sighed and shook his helm, then padded over to Bluestreak, his optics dim and slitted.  
Bluestreak stared up at Smokescreen as he drew near, a tight, scrunched up expression of frustration, anger, and apprehension all mixed into one. His lips were drawn tight and his doorwings were arching too-high.  
Smokescreen shook his helm, sighing again, and stared at the Rec Room doors. "I never would have guessed that Sunstreaker was the insecure one," he finally said, too softly for anyone but Bluestreak to hear.  
Bluestreak, however, didn't care one microchip for Smokescreen's thoughts or opinions on Sunstreaker. He snorted loudly and tilted his helm back. He refused to look back at Smokescreen, inspecting the paint on his arm for a long moment. "I haven't seen you smile like that in a while, you know…" Bluestreak sniffed, flicking at his paint edge. "You sure you want to be … talking to him again?"  
Smokescreen didn't answer, staring instead after the twins' exit.

***

Wheeljack tore down the hallway, staring at the data pad. It couldn't be, it couldn't be possible. How could this have ever happened? His processor whirled, spinning wildly. It had been so crazy back then, so uncertain, and they were in so desperate need of help and repairs. It could have happened, he supposed, but… they were supposed to be allies! And, even if something had happened back then, what was this here, now? Wheeljack came up short, stopping dead in the hallway.  
Everything they thought they knew about their alliance with the humans was suddenly all wrong, terribly, terribly wrong.  
He started jogging, then broke into a run. He had to find Prowl, quickly.

***

"Are you certain you're ready to fly?" Ratchet paced outside Skyfire's form for the umpteenth time. "We don't have to go now." Night had fallen, and the cordon of police vehicles and military HUMVEEs had fallen back a slight distance. Their sirens and beacons still flashed in the night, clearly demarcating the slowly-shrinking base of operations for the Autobots.  
"Yes, we do," Ironhide grunted, dropping another crate of their hastily-packed equipment down on the tarmac next to Skyfire. "We have to go right now."  
Ratchet glared at Ironhide, then turned back to Skyfire. "Are you certain?"  
Rolling his shoulders, Skyfire chuckled softly. "I'm more than ready, Ratchet. I need to stretch my wings a bit. Being offline for that long has me feeling antsy."  
Ratchet glared up at Skyfire, leaning his helm all the way back. "As long as you're sure." He pointed sharply up at Skyfire.  
Ironhide returned, bustling another load of cargo to the tarmac. "Ready?" He glanced up at Skyfire, his optics ridges rising challengingly. Skyfire nodded and dropped down to his alt mode, letting his cargo hold loading ramp slowly retract. It fell with a hiss, lowering down on its hydraulics. Ratchet sighed and started carrying the cargo up the ramp, piling it against the inside of Skyfire's newly-repaired hold.  
"Ratchet!" Ironhide's sharp bellow broke through the sirens and Skyfire's hold plating, echoing around the tarmac and the night sky. Skyfire's systems jolted at the sound, and Ratchet tore out of the hold, racing to see what was the matter.  
Ironhide was waving him in from the entrance to their old hangar bay. "We've got a priority one comm!" he shouted. "It's from the Ark!"

***

As comm calls went, it wasn't the worst of Prowl's life. It wasn't much better, either, though.  
Prowl stood ramrod straight, doorwings flaring wide, in the middle of Prime's office, listening to Wheeljack's hurried and frantic explanation of his decryption of Jazz's data pad. Trailbreaker hung back, listening in as well. Prime, minutes from lifting off with Skyfire to head back to the Ark, was on the line, as was Jazz, off on Primus-knew-where doing Pit-knew-what. Prowl forced his processor back on track. He needed to focus, not think about Jazz.  
"What's going on, Wheeljack?" Prime growled. "You've managed to identify some new information?" Prime was careful with his words.  
"Yeah, I did all right," Wheeljack said, scoffing slightly. "And don't worry about the security of the comm channel. If anyone's listening in, they'll wish they weren't." He hesitated, then tapped his data pad online. He sent snippets of the data over the line, sharing the screens in holo form with Prime and Jazz. "These are schematics, guys. Schematics of our own ship, and of our drive systems."  
"Yeah, it's our fusion core," Jazz said, his voice fading in and out. Prowl wondered where he was. "What's so special about that?"  
"These diagrams were taken from your little 'mission,' Jazz," Wheeljack said bluntly. He called up another schematic, pushing it over the line. "See this setup? This is from just after we onlined. These schematics must have been stolen and hacked right at the beginning of our alliance!"  
"Slagging lyin' petrovultures!" Ironhide's loud growl could be heard through Prime's end of the comm channel.  
"It gets better," Wheeljack added grimly. "See these schematics?" He pushed another series of holo images over the feed. "This is the setup we are currently using. Somehow, our allies are stealing our fusion drive schematics."  
"To what point and purpose?" Prime's voice was tight, but Prowl could sense the tension in every word. His own doorwings were vibrating, nearly shaking off their hinges.  
Sighing deeply, Wheeljack pushed one more set of holo images over the comm link. "It looks like," he began slowly. "That they're trying to design their own fusion core. Integrate our technology and theirs." The diagrams flashed over Jazz and Prime's display, simultaneously playing for Prowl and Trailbreaker. Schematics of human space shuttles were cut apart, overlaid with fusion cores and Autobot drive trains, and a myriad of connecting systems to integrate the two. "They're using our technology on their own space projects."  
A heavy silence filled the comm channel, each mech taking in the information. Prowl, finally spoke first. "What I want to know," he forced himself to ask, keeping his vocalizer steady through sheer force of will. "Is why the Defense Department is the one involved in this project."  
"I believe we may have overstayed our welcome," Prime answered, his voice barely concealing his growl. "This latest schematic looks to be from about six months ago."  
_Six months ago had been when Sunstreaker's sparking became public knowledge,_ Prowl's processor unhelpfully suggested. Six months ago was then the entire world decided to fall apart. Six months ago everything had changed. He swallowed, then nodded slowly. "What's our next course of action?"  
"Suggestions?" Prime immediately asked.  
"I'd advise on a full scale draw back," Prowl said sternly. "We need to draw down and protect ourselves. Who knows what's happening now. We don't truly have any allies here any longer."  
"Slag that!" Jazz snapped back through the comm line. Static whined behind his words. "We finally know what's what! We have to do something!"  
"Like what?" Prowl snapped. He was close, so very close, to the bitter edge. Too much had happened for him to not be slipping, just a tiny bit. Wheeljack had found him just after his spark-to-spark talk with Sunstreaker, which hadn't helped in the slightest, and he'd been about to bury his troubles in a tall cube of high grade. Hearing the confirmation that their world and their alliance truly was over was not the capstone to the day he had hoped for.  
"Think, Prowl!" Jazz growled. "The 'Cons know everything we do now. 'Cept, they knew it first, which means they're three steps ahead of us. What do Cons on the run with no place to go want with fusion drive schematics, a whole extra load of energon, and high tech junk from a particle physics lab?"  
Wheeljack's audial fins flashed white bright, nearly blinding. "They're building a slagging ship," he said softly. His voice hissed through his blast mask as he exhaled, long and slow. "They're trying to build some sort of ship, it has to be."  
"A warship?" Ironhide had pushed his way next to Prime. "Or something else?"  
"How are we supposed to know unless we go find out?" Jazz asked. The challenge was in his voice, hot and ready for action.  
"They already have fliers," Prowl said, his doorwings swinging wide. "Could these be modifications?"  
Wheeljack shook his helm. "No, integrating a fusion core to a mechs body would be a disaster, even for a mech of Skyfire or Astrotrain's size."  
At the mention of Astrotrain's name, it all clicked, perfectly, for Prowl. The design schematics, the thefts, the hunt for energon, all of it perfectly clicked. "Holy slag," he whispered. "It's the shuttles. It's the space shuttles."  
"Huh?" Ironhide grunted over the channel.  
"They're not building their own ships, they're trying to steal them and modify them with the schematics! The space shuttles, the ones the humans are phasing out? Those are big enough to hold mechs. And, who knows what the humans are replacing them with, and maybe they've succeeded with their theories of merging the technologies, but right now, the Decepticons are after the space shuttles. They have to be. They're going to try and do this themselves."  
"How do you figure, Prowl?" Prime asked carefully.  
"It makes sense," Prowl said, his doorwings rising tensely. "The Decepticons are still underpowered. We have no proof that they have any working power structure or base of operations, They're after the easiest solution."  
Surprisingly, it was Jazz who backed Prowl up, instantly. "Yeah, Prowl's right," he said, his vocalizer still hot and raring to go. "If the 'Cons are up to anything, they're trying to get their hands on those space shuttles. They've got all the work done for them. Schematics, diagrams, a slagging how-to manual right here." Jazz sighed, exasperated. "Prowl is right, and those 'Cons are going to make a move on the humans, soon. Now, do we do something about it…" He trailed off. "Or not?"  
Again, silence filled the comm lines, this time heavy and full of unease. "They're our allies –" Prowl began slowly.  
"Not anymore!" Ironhide snorted next to Prime, his disgust clearly crawling over the comm lines.  
"Would we leave them to a Decepticon attack?" Prowl's question hung in the airwaves. "Would we knowingly let them be attacked when we could prevent it?"  
Again, Jazz surprised Prowl entirely. "We don't know Megatron's end game here. It doesn't matter about the humans. We have to stop them. This is still our war…" Jazz's voice trailed off, sighing. "And it looks like it's really starting up again."  
A long sigh preceded Prime's orders, full of weariness. Whether it was over the renewed war, their taciturn allies, or the still-perfectly-murky situation, Prowl hadn't a clue. Probably everything, all rolled together. "Prowl, form a strike group. I want your team and Jazz's team to converge at NASA Headquarters as soon as possible." His engine revved, loud enough to reverberate over the comm link. "Do not let the humans get in your way. I'll be taking this matter up with the President, personally."  
"Are you still leaving?" Prowl's processor was already racing ahead.  
"Yes. We're lifting off as soon as we cut the line. I want to discuss this situation out from underneath the Pentagon's thumb." Again, Prime's engine revved, nearly roaring.  
"Well then, let's cut this one loose." Jazz's voice surged suddenly. "Let's go find those 'Cons!"

***

 _I knew it, I knew this would happen, I knew this would happen…_ Sunstreaker's inner monologue did nothing for his raging spark. It was clenching, surging and revolting against his emotions, burning to ash before mocking him again. I knew this would happen!  
He paced, turning just so at the end of his quarters, holding Prowler against his chestplates. He had to be strong and sturdy for his sparkling now, shelter him and keep him safe. He'd be doing this alone. Sideswipe wasn't coming back. Part of him raged, bitter screams of anger and anguish tied together. _You promised me!_ His spark shouted. _You promised you and you lied! You always lie! Nothing but lies, everything you've ever said!_  
The other part of his spark was a quiet sigh, accepting the inevitable, accepting what he had always known, and what he always knew: Sideswipe was never going to be his. What fools they'd been to try.  
His quarter's doors slid open, Sideswipe barreling through. Electric sobs rained from his vocalizer and his optics were pure white, brilliantly streaking his pain for all to see. "Sunny!" Sideswipe gasped, choking on his gears. "Sunny, wait-"  
"Get out," Sunstreaker hissed. His optics flared, narrowing to slits. Prowler stirred in his arms, once.  
"It wasn't anything, Sunny, I swear! He was just looking at Prowler!" Sideswipe tried to step forward, tried to move to Sunstreaker's side.  
"It's always just something, Sideswipe." Sunstreaker snapped. "It's always just something else, and it's nothing to you. But," he snarled, his vocalizer rising slowly. "It's everything to me!" He whirled around, stalking forward and staring Sideswipe down. "I begged you to stay away from him. Begged you. You promised me you would. You promised me, whatever it took to prove your feelings." Sunstreaker's words choked off, his rage spiking in time with his memories. Static closed in over his vocalizer, pain scratched over his optics. "You've proven them," he snapped, his voice hissing near a whisper. "You've proven how little you care about your promises, or me."  
"That's not true…" Sideswipe tried to shake his helm, but he was already shaking, already trembling, and he could barely move a cable. He stumbled forward, leaning against their couch as his legs nearly gave way. "Primus, Sunny, that's not true. I love you!" His voice rose until he was shouting his words, bellowing them at the top of his vocalizer. "I fragging love you, and there is nothing that has ever changed that!" He tried to breath, tried to drag in a vent of air, but his engine was too hot, his spark too wild. "I can't do these tests, Sunny. I can't prove to you how I feel because I will never measure up. You want me to go on duty so you can be with Prowler, and then you want me to not go to battle! You want to go with me, but we can't leave Prowler, so you go on duty when I'm hurt and when I need you. I try to make love to you and you run away from me. Primus, Sunstreaker, I don't know what you want!"  
"It's always been about the fragging for you," Sunstreaker snapped back, seizing on the last bit. Prowler was shifting now, frowning, and he was only seconds from onlining. Sunstreaker tried to clamp down on his rage, but it was too far gone. "You were the one who started this fragging mess! You were the one who insisted on fragging! You were the one who had to frag everyone else, and you were the one who promised you'd never frag anyone else!"  
"I haven't!" Sideswipe shrieked. "I don't want to! I only want you!"  
"I don't want you!" Sunstreaker bellowed back, finally losing control. "I don't want you because I can't trust you! I can't trust you, Sideswipe!"  
Silence filled their quarters, filling all the dark and broken places of their relationship and of their shattered sparks. Slowly, Prowler began to cry, filling the void with the only thing holding the two of them together any longer. Sunstreaker turned away, shaking now himself, and tried to rock Prowler back to recharge. It wasn't working.  
Sideswipe wilted, all of the fight, all of the passion, all of his damned commitment to making them work, melting from his spark. He was left alone, feeling lost, feeling adrift, suddenly without a purpose to the entire length of his life. "Primus," he whispered.  
Sunstreaker's helm turned, only his profile visible over his shoulder. He said nothing.  
Another cry from Prowler refocused his attentions, and Sunstreaker cursed, trying to calm him down. Prowler was wide awake now, screaming in echoed pain and disturbed recharge. His faceplates were scrunched up, his optics too-bright, and loud screams burst from his vocalizer in a constant stream of interlaced static.  
Sideswipe shuddered, suddenly feeling the reach of his personal, tragic failure in the very depths of the vast and empty pit that his spark had become. Primus, but what about Prowler? How were they ever going to take care of Prowler, when they couldn't even look each other in the optics? Sunstreaker's spat-out words from before slapped him in the faceplates once again.  
"Sunny, I am not leaving," Sideswipe said, his voice dark and too-gravely. "I am not leaving this family. I am not leaving Prowler." It was too much, too much memory and meaning to walk out. They had been abandoned themselves as sparklings. He'd die first before letting Prowler think for one moment that he didn't care.  
"You already have left, Sideswipe," Sunstreaker sighed. "We were never really together." The fight had left him as well, only burning pain remaining, reminding him of all their hopes and promises. He swallowed, trying to fight back the urge to just let go of it all and collapse. Prowler was struggling, and he was trying to get him to latch onto his feeding line. "You can recharge on the couch until we figure out something else."  
The chirp of a comm signal broke through their cabin, breaking against Prowler's cries. "Prowl to Sunstreaker. I need you to report to the hangar bay immediately. There's been a development. We're lifting off in fifteen minutes."


	9. Chapter 9

Sunstreaker's plating was crawling.  
The twin shuttles Wheeljack had built were large enough on the inside to hide from everyone else. A forward flight pod protruded from an open-air command and control loft set above the main operations deck. Control stations lined the perimeter of the ops deck and consoles were stacked in the middle. It was cramped and crowded, but still could pack half the Ark's crew in there. Beneath the ops deck was the habitation deck, a series of bunks and benches and a small open space that Wheeljack had hastily built on as a quasi-cargo hold and a place to rest on longer voyages. The habitation deck was dark and quiet and as far as a mech could get from everyone else. It was where Sunstreaker had chosen to ensconce himself, stealing away from the rest of Prowl's strike team as he worked over his pulse rifle with obsessive, violent attention. The over-sharp glow of his optics were the only traces of light in the dim underbelly of the shuttle.  
He slammed his rifle's stock back into place, grunting as he heard the housing click home. Parts and pieces were roughly assembled back together, forceful and vicious. The pulse rifle onlined with a deadly hum, well-familiar and one of Sunstreaker's most welcoming and favorite sounds. A deadly grin, dark and turned down at the edges, stretched over his faceplates as Sunstreaker sighted through the rifle's scope, taking aim at the far terminal screen, dark and offline. He felt the power of the pulse rifle humming through its casing, purring into his palms. His engine ticked over, rumbling in response, needing the feel of the viciousness his rifle promised. Sunstreaker's finger twitched against the trigger.  
Footsteps echoed down the ramp leading from the upper levels to the dark habitation area. Sunstreaker dropped his rifle to the bench, slamming it down as he stripped out the laser core. The pulse rifle whined as the power faded, all indicators darkening along the casing. He began stripping it once more, methodically tearing apart the pulse rifle piece by piece.  
Heavy footfalls crossed the decking. A mech moved in the darkness, coming to stand behind Sunstreaker. He watched the yellow twin's manic movements, the precision of his rifle stripping, and the force behind his actions.  
"Primus, Sunny…" Prowl sighed, dropping down next to Sunstreaker on the bench. His doorwings drooped, hanging low on his backplates as his helm pitched forward.  
Sunstreaker didn't respond. He held the empty casing, then grabbed for the rifle's stock, slamming it back into its place. Again, he grunted as he heard the housing click home. His optics narrowed as he glanced sidelong at Prowl.  
"I'm not ready for this," Prowl whispered. He was talking to the darkness as much as he was talking to Sunstreaker. "I'm not ready for this war to start again. I can't go back to the mech I was before…" He swallowed, his optics dimming as he looked down.  
Sunstreaker's vicious movements kept up, reassembling his pulse rifle by rote memory, years of war and tension lined in his movements. He said nothing as Prowl's whispers continued.  
"The Decepticons are coming and there's going to be a confrontation. No matter what I do, no matter what we find, this will end in another battle. Another war. I keep trying to think of another way… " Prowl sighed, a quick inhale. "I don't have the same distance I had before. I'm a mech of two minds." He shook his helm, swallowing. "You've become one my most trusted soldiers Sunny, and a fantastic tactician. But I don't want you here. I want you at the Ark, safe. With your family. With your sparkling. But… I need you here." Prowl turned his helm, his fractured blue optics staring at Sunstreaker's profile.  
A moment later, he turned away. "And Jazz… Primus, he's going to go into battle. I know it. There's nothing that can stop him, not when he's like this." Prowl shook his helm again, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "And I don't know what to do. Try to protect him? Let him be? Forget about everything? Us… and … " Prowl couldn't finish.  
Sunstreaker grabbed his rifle's laser core, slamming it into place once more. The pulse rifle hummed online, all indicators glowing green, and he whipped around, raising his rifle in one perfect, fluid motion, the scope to his optic and the barrel pointed straight at the center of Prowl's chevron.  
Prowl's optics burned, blue light fracturing into white as he stared down Sunstreaker's rifle, staring him down through the scope. The moment lingered, stretching on. "Do you ever wish that none of this had ever happened?" Prowl whispered.  
Sunstreaker's cheek twitched, scratching against the rifle's casing at Prowl's words. He dropped the pulse rifle to his lap and turned away, tearing the laser core from its housing yet again. His yellow fingers tore over the rifle, snatching and pulling parts right and left, over and over and over. The movements were an outlet for his spark, the bitter anguish and fierce regret leaching from his soul. How stupid he'd been, hoping for something different. How ridiculous he'd been. Didn't he know better by know? The universe never let him win. Never. Did he wish that none of this had ever happened?  
He wished he'd never been sparked. He hadn't been wanted then, obviously, and he hadn't been wanted after that, either. He'd been a fool, a Primus-fragged fool to believe otherwise. All his life, he'd only ever been wanted for two things – fragging in the berth, and fragging up Decepticons.  
_If that's what they want, that's what they get_. His fingers gripped down on his bare rifle housing, reaching for the stock and preparing to slam it into place yet again. _I'll kill every last one of them._ Prowler's faceplates, smiling and giggling, sleepy and peaceful, warm and tender, flashed in front of his optics. His optics blurred, static crossing his vision. _I'll kill every last one of them for you, Prowler._ Sunstreaker slammed the laser core back into place, feeling the pulse rifle hum back to life. _I promise._

***

Sideswipe's world was colored in grey.  
After Sunstreaker's pronouncement and Prowl's summons, Sideswipe's world had simply collapsed. Sunstreaker left in a swirling maelstrom of rage and wounded spark, transferring their deeply-upset-Prowler into Sideswipe's arms without touching each other's plating or looking into each other's optics. Sideswipe accepted Prowler limply, staring after Sunstreaker's movements as he grabbed his rifle and his gear bag and hurried out the door. Prowler wiggled in his arms, fussing loudly, and it was all Sideswipe could do to comfort him. He buried his faceplates in the tender crook of Prowler's warm neck, whispering soft words as his arms wrapped around his little body.  
In no time at all, Sideswipe was heaving, rocking Prowler as he gulped rushes of air amidst choking, static-filled sobs. At some point he collapsed to the decking, and there he remained for the rest of the night, rocking and sobbing, the memories of Sunstreaker and him together playing in an endless loop in his processor. His body was numb, burning with pain, but he couldn't tell if it was from the crushing shame of his existence or from his torn neural lines, slowly destroying his body. He didn't much care, either.  
Prowler offlined into a fitful recharge, punctuated by twisting and tossing in Sideswipe's arms all through the night. Sideswipe held him, stroking his plating, and when morning came, he barely noticed, save for Prowler's insistence on energon and the general noises of the Ark's morning activity. Prowler fussed his way out of Sideswipe's arms and onto the floor, where he wiggled as best he could on his belly, trying hard to crawl.  
Finally, after the walls had closed in and the memories were too oppressive, Sideswipe stood, stumbling away from his collapse. His body shook, barely functioning from the mix of damages, exhaustion, and shame. Prowler's big blue optics watched his unsteady movements toward the couch, where Sideswipe braced himself on shaking, trembling arms. "Sunny…" Sideswipe whispered, staring at the detritus of their life. Sparkling toys were everywhere, strewn about their quarters, taking over all the surfaces that had once held pulse rifle parts and cubes of high grade, game controllers and DVDs. This was their life. This was their home. How was he supposed to leave?  
_Should have thought of that before you spoke to him_ , his traitorous processor unhelpfully supplied. _You knew what Sunstreaker wanted. Was it so slagging hard?_ Sideswipe's optics dimmed as he gripped the back of the couch. _You only have yourself to blame. Slagger._  
Prowler, done with being ignored, piped up, shouting at Sideswipe for his attention. His little hand reached upward, waving toward Sideswipe, and his questioning optics burned into his parent's gaze.  
"Oh, Bug…" Sideswipe whispered again, turning back toward Prowler. He knelt down carefully, scooping Prowler into his arms. "I'm not leaving you, Bug. I swear." Sideswipe pressed his face against Prowler's neck, inhaling that perfect sparkling scent. His spark jolted as his throat clenched, and another hiccupping sob escaped him. "Bug…" Sideswipe's vocalizer wavered, shaking around his emotions.  
He stood, gathering Prowler tight in his arms as he limped toward the door. Their quarters were too full of memories, too full of the two – and three – of them for Sideswipe to stand. He couldn't breathe, couldn't escape, and he fled.

***

Wheeljack was blearily tying to cycle his optics back online – albeit slowly – as he stretched his backstruts and tilted back in the desk chair. His optics slowly powered back online, taking in the painfully familiar orange walls of the medical bay. He shook his helm as he slumped back down, resting his elbows in a heap on the top of Ratchet's desk.  
_Here I am again,_ he thought, shaking his helm. Pads were scattered before him, a mess of data and file transfers spread across the desktop. Ratchet's terminal was online as well, beeping away as the macro Wheeljack had built to crunch the remainder of Jazz's stolen and encrypted data worked away. _I should be in my lab. But noooo…_ Wheeljack's helm fell forward, his forehelm impacting the surface of the desk, hard. _First Aid had to go off with Prowl, and I get to watch the medbay._ Wheeljack kept his helm down as his optics offlined. Figures.  
He didn't hear the medbay doors slide open, or the shuffling, tired footsteps drag themselves to Ratchet's office. He was too engrossed in his self-pitying to notice Sideswipe, an exhausted heap of misery and shame, hovering at the door. Prowler, however, curled in Sideswipe's arms, made himself known, chirping loudly and reaching for Wheeljack as soon as he saw his erstwhile playmate from the night before.  
Starting, Wheeljack jerked, his helm shooting upward as his audial fins flashed online. Prowler giggled, clapping his tiny hands together at the sight, and Wheeljack's optics bounced between Prowler's excited faceplates and Sideswipe's devastated expression. His helm ticked to the side, still hovering only inches above the desktop in a slump. "What are you doing here so late, Sides?"  
Sideswipe swallowed before he answered. "It's morning, 'Jack," he said, his voice only wavering slightly. "You been here all night?" Sideswipe shifted Prowler, still trying to wiggle toward Wheeljack, across his hips.  
Wheeljack sighed, his audial fins lighting up for a long moment. Prowler giggled again. "Guess I have." He shrugged, slumping back in the chair as he shrugged. "Prime needs this data, especially now that Jazz and Prowl are going to be trying to find the Decepticons." Both Wheeljack's and Sideswipe's optics darkened as he spoke. Wheeljack swallowed, then purposely cleared his throat. "So," he forced out, faking a brightness he didn't feel. His audial fins cycled again, flashing brightly. "What brings you here to see me this morning?"  
Prowler's giggles filled the office before Sideswipe spoke. Wheeljack watched the sparkling, happy and carefree as he stared at Wheeljack and mouthed at his wrist. "I didn't know where else to go, Wheeljack," Sideswipe finally said. He shook his helm, not meeting his gaze. "I don't have that many friends anymore… I don't really have anywhere to go."  
"Go?" Wheeljack stared at Sideswipe. "What do you mean, go?"  
It took several tries for Sideswipe to get the words out, and when they came, they were static-filled whispers. "I fragged it all up, Wheeljack. Sunstreaker is done with me. He's ended… everything." Sideswipe's optics fritzed, falling dark, before he cycled them back online. "He's ended us," he whispered, his voice too-hoarse.  
Wheeljack stared at Sideswipe, not saying a word. His optics fell to Prowler, gazing over the obliviously happy sparkling, then back up to Sideswipe's twisting and miserable faceplates. His audial fins tried to glow, but the light faded before it even shone, and he simply stared, watching Sideswipe's expression crumble and the pain flare outward. "I don't know what to do," Sideswipe mouthed, shaking his helm. Slowly, his body began to tremble again, shaking as he held Prowler close.  
"C'mere." Wheeljack was on his feet quickly, all previous exhaustion forgotten. He squeezed by Sideswipe and guided him out of Ratchet's office, leading him over to the far medberth. He didn't quite know what he was doing – Ratchet, gruff though he may be – always handled the mechs better than he did. Still, Sideswipe followed him and slumped against the medberth, shuffling himself dutifully onto the surface. He slouched over, barely sitting upright, and set Prowler down on his belly on the berth next to him. Prowler bounced, eagerly stretching and trying to scoot his way around the new surface.  
Wheeljack pulled up a lone visitors chair and straddled it backwards, sighing as he crossed his arms over the backrest. "What happened?" he asked finally. It was nearly a mirror of their conversation before, when Wheeljack had confided in Sideswipe about his own breakup.  
Sideswipe shook his helm. "I ruined everything, 'Jack. I always do. I'm nothing but a fragger." His fingers picked at his thigh, worrying over a rough spot of paint as his faceplates twisted over themselves. "He only wanted one thing, and I couldn't even do that."  
"What?" Wheeljack frowned. "I don't get it. You guys seemed okay."  
"We were alright. Not great. I mean… " Sideswipe shook his helm and swallowed, his optics dimming. "But I fragged it all up." Sideswipe's vent heaved, a long exhale pulling out of his body. His optics, already scratched with lines of fatigue, twisted and blurred on the edges.  
"How did you frag it up? I saw you last night. Everything was fine." Wheeljack's optics slid to Prowler, remembering the feel of holding him close and the feel of his happiness, pouring over him. Idly, he reached for the berth, resting his hand near Prowler's little body.  
Sighing, Sideswipe looked up, staring at the ceiling, His lips pressed into a thin line as he swallowed, trying not to fall apart. "Sunny…" he began slowly. "Sunny asked me to do one thing – only one thing – to show him that I truly loved him. That it was him I wanted and no one else." Sideswipe's optics darkened as he let his helm fall forward. "He's been busy, you know? Holding down my shifts and taking care of Prowler. I'm broken, and he's doing so much…" Sideswipe trailed off again. "He only asked me for one thing."  
Prowler had found Wheeljack's hand and turned toward it, reaching for his fingers. Wheeljack waggled them back and forth, trapping Prowler's smaller sparkling fingers beneath his. Prowler giggled at every turn, trying to smack at his hands and free his trapped fingers. Despite himself, Wheeljack's attention veered toward Prowler.  
"He asked me – he begged me – to leave Smokescreen alone. To stay away from him. To not talk to him." Sideswipe shook his helm, a wry, dark smile on his faceplates. "And I couldn't do it. I couldn't keep one simple promise to him." A dark sob finally escaped, choking his vocalizer. "If I can't keep this one little promise, how can I be sure I won't break a bigger one? How can I be sure I won't cheat on him… again?" Sideswipe's tortured optics finally sought out Wheeljack's.  
Listening to Sideswipe's choking confessions had finally torn Wheeljack's attentions away from Prowler's pursuit of his fingers. He stared back at Sideswipe, his helm cocked to the side. "Sides…" he began. He shook his helm slowly. "That's… Well, that's just slag." He frowned, his faceplates scrunching up in confusion.  
Sideswipe stared back, blank, save for the soft hiccupping sobs that had settled into his body.  
Wheeljack shook his helm again. "That's a stupid promise, first off," Wheeljack said quickly. "How can you not interact with one of the crew?"  
Sideswipe's optics blazed. "But I was with him! You can't just expect that to go away!"  
"But you chose to be with Sunny," Wheeljack pressed. "Anyone can see how crazy you are for your brother, Sides. Once you didn't have to hide it, Primus, you didn't hide it at all. You wear your spark right out on your plating." Wheeljack's helm tilted to the side again. "Why can't Sunny see that?"  
"I don't know!" Sideswipe suddenly shouted, his fists balling at his sides as he slammed them down onto the berth. "I don't fragging know!" he bellowed. "I fragging love him! I love him so fragging much, but all I ever seem to do is piss him off! I love him!" Sideswipe's shouts were hoarse, ragged on the edges, and Prowler jumped at the sudden commotion. He stared at his parent, his faceplates wavering before a single warble, a soft cry, burbled out of him.  
Wheeljack reached for Prowler automatically, rising and gathering him into his arms as Sideswipe collapsed in on himself, shaking and clenching his denta and gasping with soft sobs. Wheeljack bounced Prowler in his arms, rocking back and forth on his feet as he rubbed the back of Prowler's helm, mimicking what he'd seen Sideswipe do. Prowler was still uncertain, but he relaxed in Wheeljack's arms, only soft warbles falling from his nervous lipplates as he watched Sideswipe.  
Finally, Sideswipe looked up, his optics shot with anguish, faceplates torn through with shame and resignation. "I love him," Sideswipe choked out, "more than he loves me."  
Shifting, Wheeljack held Sideswipe's gaze for too long. That hit too close to home. Though, with Prowler in his arms and Ratchet on the other side of the country, Wheeljack wasn't entirely certain that the reasons he'd had for leaving Ratchet held any weight any longer. Ratchet had come to love sparklings – and the idea of his own sparkling – more than he'd loved Wheeljack. Or so Wheeljack had thought. Now, Prowler was in his arms and on his processor and worming his way into Wheeljack's spark – and it felt pretty good.  
Except for the Ratchet-sized hole that was perpetually burning in his spark.  
"We're not meant to be together," Sideswipe continued, staring Wheeljack down. His voice was wavering, shaking and quaking with static and pain. Again, Wheeljack flinched, thinking back to his own troubles. Sideswipe pressed on, pulling his words from the depths of his fraying spark. "But I don't know what to do without him." He swallowed, his gears grinding, rough and ragged. "He doesn't need me. And he doesn't want me." A shaky inhale, full of static. "He told me he doesn't love me."  
Silence stretched throughout the medbay, broken only by Prowler's small burbles as he shifted in Wheeljack's arms. Sideswipe was frozen, staring into Wheeljack's gaze, searching for some kind of answer to his anguish, to his breaking spark. Wheeljack, despite all his knowledge and all of his tools, didn't have anything for him.  
Wheeljack was searching for something – anything – to say when the medbay doors slid open, shattering the silence. His helm whipped up, staring across the bay as his audial fins blasted online, streaking with surprise. Prowler shouted, reaching for the glowing fins, and Wheeljack instinctively scooted him higher in his arms, not even noticing what he was doing.  
Sideswipe stared straight ahead, not reacting, not even seeing the medbay around him anymore.  
"Hey Wheeljack," Smokescreen said as he shuffled into the bay, grimacing around a guilty smile. His optics were dim, and he cradled his arm against his abdomen, one doorwing cocked at an odd, stiff angle behind his backplates.  
His optics brightened with shock as they landed on Prowler, crawling up Wheeljack's plating with a determined look in his little faceplates and headed for Wheeljack's audial fins. A moment later, and Smokescreen's optics were dragging over Sideswipe's hunched backside, taking in the devastated slump of his shoulders and the despair that hung through the air.  
Sideswipe, for his part, merely offlined his optics and lowered his helm, letting it hang between his shoulders. Not even the pain from his torn neural lines, agonizing as it was, was anywhere close to the depth of pain within his spark.  
"Is this a… bad time?" Smokescreen asked carefully. His one working doorwing hitched upwards, flattening across his back.  
Wheeljack jumped, startled back to sorts. He bustled Prowler back down to the berth next to Sideswipe, patting him gently. Prowler made a fussing noise as he stretched out on his belly, and Sideswipe reached out for Prowler without looking, resting one of his hands on the small of Prowler's back. Prowler's attention turned to Sideswipe, and he tried to roll over beneath his parent's warm hold.  
"Not at all," Wheeljack said brightly, moving away from Sideswipe's back berth. He hurried forward, gesturing for Smokescreen to one of the front berths, opposite the bay entirely from Sideswipe. "What have you done to yourself?" Wheeljack asked, faking a light cheer poorly. He shifted, his hands shaking over the berth controls as Smokescreen gingerly sat down.  
"Blue and I were sparring," Smokescreen began, having the decency to look guilty. He met Wheeljack's optics with a rueful grin. "I think I've pulled a cable in my shoulder. Or my chest."  
Wheeljack's optic ridges shot high and his audial fins flashed. "Sparring?"  
"Had to get some of the tension out, you know?" Smokescreen hissed as he shifted. "The high alert and…" Smokescreen's optics drifted to Sideswipe, still and unmoving across the bay. Smokescreen was silent, watching him, then shrugged, turning a fake, rogue's grin back to Wheeljack. "We were just roughing around and I had a bad landing."  
"A bad landing?" Wheeljack chuckled as he reached for the set of tools stored in the berth. "From what?"  
"Blue got a good throw in on me." Again, Smokescreen smiled guiltily.  
Wheeljack snorted, working quickly at the screws and fastenings that held Smokescreen's chestplates over his upper body. Panels came off and were set aside, revealing the mass of thick cables overlaying Smokescreen's frame, defining his upper body and strength. Wheeljack moved to his shoulder, pulling the plating off there as well, and then on to his backplates. Smokescreen grunted as Wheeljack struggled with his doorwing hinges, accidentally bumping his injured doorwing.  
"I need a different bit," Wheeljack finally said. "You've bent yourself up nicely back here." His wry optics met Smokescreen's. "I've got something in my lab. I'll be right back." Wheeljack scooted out of the med bay quickly, trying to hurry there in order to hurry back. He cast one, worried look at Sideswipe's still-motionless and soundless slump before he ducked into the corridor.

***

At first, Smokescreen tried to ignore Sideswipe's presence. He wasn't moving, wasn't speaking, and it was easy to not look at him. He looked at the walls, the ceiling, the other berths. He looked at the floor. He ignored Prowler's small gurgles, the noises and coos the sparkling was making. He wouldn't look. It didn't matter how unusual Sideswipe's silence was, or how utterly devastated he'd looked only ten hours prior. It didn't matter that despair and regret and shame were choking the air. It wasn't Smokescreen's concern, it wasn't his place. He wasn't interested.  
"Everything alright, Sideswipe?" Smokescreen could never lie to himself. He stared at Sideswipe, taking in the devastation and dejection rolling off him in waves. Frowning, he pressed harder. "Siders?"  
One pained sigh fell from Sideswipe's lips. "I can't, Smokey," Sideswipe whispered. It was choked and full of static, barely audible. "I can't…"  
"Can't what?" Smokescreen frowned, staring. "Can't talk to me?" He remembered the night before, and Sideswipe's desperate reaction to Sunstreaker's arrival in the Rec room.  
Another long, pained sigh, full of crackling static. Slowly, Sideswipe's helm bobbed up and down, nodding.  
"Sunstreaker say that?" Smokescreen winced as he shifted, trying to take the pressure off his jarred doorwing.  
"He asked me," Sideswipe began, lifting his helm to stare at the far bulkhead, "to keep my distance from you. To stay away. To prove that I love him and not you." Sideswipe shook his helm, swallowing. "And I failed."  
"Is he mad about last night?" Smokescreen frowned. "Us talking? About Prowler?"  
"I broke my promise."  
"But we barely spoke! And it was about your guys' sparkling." Smokescreen hissed as he shifted, a wave of pain rolling through his chest and shoulder.  
"Doesn't matter," Sideswipe grunted. "I had to prove myself worthy of trust. I've broken every promise, broken every shred of trust he's ever placed in me." Faces of mechs he'd 'faced throughout the years flashed in Sideswipe's mind, the betrayal still fresh and painful. "I had to start proving myself. Earn his trust." Again, he shook his helm. "And I couldn't. I couldn't last for even a few weeks."  
_I had no idea that Sunstreaker was the insecure one._ Smokescreen's thought from the night before came thundering back, mixing with his memories of Sunstreaker throughout the years. Haughty, distant Sunstreaker, prickly, irritable, dark Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker, seemingly incomplete without his brother. Completely unsociable without him, entirely. All the years of their squads' friendship, playing out in memory bursts and isolated images frozen in his processor. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker moving together in battle. Sunstreaker holding vigil over Sideswipe in the medbay, even over something as minor as a broken joint. Sideswipe, cajoling his brother out of a dark, glowering mood, when everyone else was steering well clear. Sunstreaker's optics, watching Sideswipe, always. Always.  
And Sideswipe always returning to his brother. Never entirely happy without him. Never complete. It was always the two of them together. Always.  
In retrospect, how had they all not known? Prowler's happy coo stole across the medbay, a content giggle. A tiny, thin smile slipped over Smokescreen's faceplates. Maybe this really was how it was all supposed to be. Fragged, sure. But what about the universe wasn't fragged?  
"Sideswipe, I have never seen you as ridiculously happy as you've been recently." His helm jutted toward Prowler. "Having your guys' sparkling. Being able to be with Sunny." He caught Sideswipe's wince at his words. Still he continued. "I've never seen you as happy as you've been."  
Sideswipe's helm fell between his shoulders again.  
"And I've never, ever seen you as devastated, either." Smokescreen stared at Sideswipe, willing him to turn his way.  
Finally Sideswipe moved. He turned, wary optics meeting Smokescreen's with a mixture of dread and resignation.  
"I know you, Siders," Smokescreen said softly. "I know you. I'm your friend. I know how deeply that spark of yours goes." His optics held Sideswipe's, the red twin's slowly filling with pain. "I know how much you love Sunny." His words were soft, gentle. "Primus," he smiled a moment later. "Everyone knows how much you love Sunny." He sighed, letting his smile fade. "Whatever is going on with you two right now isn't right. You two are made for each other."  
Sideswipe's expression finally cracked and he shook his helm, swallowing around the clenched gears lodged in his throat. "Why are you saying this?" he whispered, forcing the words out. "Why are you being kind?" Sideswipe's optics were burning, radiating with pain. "Primus, you're the last person who should be kind to me…"  
"No, I'm the first," Smokescreen interrupted. His voice was firm. "I'm your friend, Siders," he said again. "I used to be your best friend. And you've been shouldering this –" his free hand waved through the air, trying to encompass Prowler, Sideswipe, and everything else. "- all on your own." He smiled, thin. "You don't do to well on your own, Sideswipe. You're not a lone petro-wolf."  
Sideswipe's mouth fell open at Smokescreen's words, shock and twisted anguish marring his expression. He shook his helm, unable to speak.  
Smokescreen stared back at Sideswipe. Finally, he sighed. "How can Sunny not see how much you love him?" he asked quietly.  
All at once, Sideswipe's expression shattered. He gasped, gulping a great heave of air through his vents as he shuddered. "I always frag it up," he choked. "I try to tell him I love him but he doesn't believe me… And why should he?" Sideswipe stared at Smokescreen, his optics pleading. "He thinks I want to be with you," Sideswipe choked out. "He thinks I don't want to be with him."  
"That's slag," Smokescreen said, his words soft. "You don't want to be with me."  
Silence stretched between the two. Sideswipe's mouth moved soundlessly, moving over silent words. "I've never kept a promise to him," he finally whispered, physically pulling the words from his tortured spark. "I always broke his spark. I can't trust myself. How can he trust me?"  
"Well, that promise you made to not talk to me? That was a pretty stupid promise to make." Smokescreen tried to grin, tried for humor. His smile faded quickly. "You have nothing to prove, Sideswipe. You love him. And only him."  
Sideswipe swallowed, chewing on his lipplate. His wild optics roamed over Smokescreen, his breaths coming fast and hard. What shredded hold he'd had over his rampaging emotions was fast losing grip. "Sunny thinks you still want to be with me," Sideswipe finally burst out quickly. His optics met Smokescreen's, fearful and bright.  
Smokescreen stared back, silent. "Does it matter if I do or I don't?" he finally asked.  
Optics suddenly blazing too-bright, Sideswipe stared back, his expression bordering on wild hysteria. He froze, his entire being ceasing every movement. Smokescreen held his burning gaze, unwavering.

***

The medbay faded from view before Sideswipe. Smokescreen, the too-bright orange bulkheads, and the faintly flickering, droning lights overhead, suddenly wavered out of his optics sight. Static filled his input, then faded to white. Distantly, Sideswipe could hear the hum of the Ark, the quiet beeps and processes of the ships' computers, but they faded as well, replaced with a heavy, thick roar and a swaddling of his processor.  
Deep within, all was not calm. Sideswipe's spark was screaming, splitting apart within his chest. He could feel the tears, feel the bursts and eruptions of agony as he thought of his brother and of a life without him. He could remember, perfectly, every time he'd hurt his brother, every action, every 'face with another, every single moment he'd tried to run away instead of running to Sunstreaker. He'd run to anyone and everyone, desperate to get away. Whoever showed an interest. Whoever wanted him – whoever wasn't Sunstreaker. It was so easy. It was so meaningless. And it wasn't what he'd wanted.  
All he'd ever wanted was Sunstreaker, though. The only mech he'd ever loved, and the one mech he wasn't ever supposed to. He'd never, ever, been able to tell his brother how deeply, how strongly he was loved. They fumbled in the dark and fumbled for words, and couldn't ever muster the courage to face what they were doing. There was something fundamentally wrong with him, he knew that – Sideswipe knew it wasn't normal in any way to be this in love with your twin brother. Still, he'd had this one chance, these past six months, to truly be with his brother – and their family – and to love him, as fully, and as deeply as he had always wanted to.  
And he'd fragged it up. Like always.  
But, having had the chance, having lived the life he'd always wanted to, even if only for six months, and even if they were tumultuous months, full of anxiety and pain, could he walk away? Could he box this up, package it away, work it out of his circuits? Could he shake Sunstreaker, as he'd shaken every other mech? Could he ever go back to a life where he pretended he didn't love Sunstreaker.  
No. No, of course not. The answer screamed from his spark, the very question rending it in two. He gasped, his vents hitching as he keeled over, physically feeling the pain of his emotions rage over his spark and systems. He grunted, his optics darkening. No, he could never not love Sunstreaker. This was his life. This was his penance for being a freak. He'd never be free of this love.  
And he didn't want to. He'd had the best six months of his life, despite their arguments and despite his injury. He'd loved, freely loved, Sunstreaker. It was the happiest he had ever been.  
A pitched cry, fitful and sharp, rose from Prowler on the medberth next to Sideswipe. Worry poured from his sparkling gaze, frightened and unsettled. He jerked again, his cry growing plaintive.  
All at once, Sideswipe's world screamed back into focus, his optics blazing online, surging overbright, his audials scratching back to the world. The colors were too sharp, too pointed, and he squinted, ducking his helm as he instinctively turned to Prowler, scooping him into his arms. Prowler molded himself against Sideswipe's chestplates, resting his helm against his parent's plating. Still he fussed, unsettled by the raw power coursing through Sideswipe's systems.  
Smokescreen was still watching, silent. His optics traveled over Sideswipe, watching him comfort his sparkling, murmuring soft sounds against his tiny helm.  
Finally, Sideswipe spoke aloud. His voice was scratchy, full of static, and ground against the choking gears in his throat. "No," he grunted, resting his cheek against Prowler's helm. "No it doesn't matter if you want me or not, Smokey." His optics offlined, and he slowly inhaled, taking in the soft warmth of Prowler. _At least Prowler will always be here, a monument of our love._ "I love him. And I'll never stop loving him." Sideswipe swallowed, onlining his optics and looking straight at Smokescreen. "Never," he choked out.  
A wry smile met Sideswipe's pronouncement. "I know that," Smokescreen said softly. "And now you know that." He nodded at him, a slow incline of his helm and a knowing look in his optic. "Sunny somehow doesn't, though."  
Sideswipe's expression twisted, contorting around itself. "How are you saying this? How-" His voice choked and he looked away. "How are you okay with this? With me?" Humiliation colored his words and cast his optics down to the decking.  
Smokescreen sighed, gazing at Sideswipe for a long moment. He could see the shame, the utter, utter shame, rolling off the red twin. There had always been a darker edge, a vulnerability within Sideswipe that Smokescreen had seen long ago but had never been able to decipher. "If I had been a better friend to you, Siders, I would have been able to help you with this. I should have seen this sooner. I should have seen you, instead of seeing what I wanted to see." He waited, gathering his words carefully. There was a Sideswipe-shaped hole in his spark, and for months he'd thought it had been scorned love. "If we all were a better family, we wouldn't have scorned you. You shouldn't have to be alone."  
Sideswipe's helm slowly twisted around, incredulous, agonized optics staring back at Smokescreen. The moment stretched long, the air growing thick with unspoken words.  
Neither heard the slide of the medbay doors and the soft footfalls of a mech pattering into the dimly-lit, early morning medbay. The mech stopped as soon as he saw the two within, freezing in his tracks.  
"You've been alone for so long, Siders," Smokescreen finally said quietly, breaking the silence. "You've been trying to do everything – be a parent, be a lover, be a partner, be a soldier. But who's helping you?"  
"I've been doing okay…" Sideswipe began, trailing off.  
"You're a pretty fantastic parent." Smokescreen smiled at Prowler, mouthing at Sideswipe's neck column and the joint of his chestplate. "That's obvious. But you need more, Siders. I know you." He smiled, soft. "I know you."  
"I've missed you," Sideswipe whispered, blurting out his words too-quickly. His optics were burning into Smokescreen's and he chewed on his lower lip. "You were –"  
The medbay doors slid open again, and Wheeljack barreled through, running at full speed on his way back from his lab. "Sorry!" Wheeljack shouted as he rounded the doorframe. "I couldn't find-!" Wheeljack barely missed colliding with the fast-retreating form of Bluestreak, squeezing past Wheeljack as he ducked out of the medbay.  
Wheeljack ducked to the side, barely missing Bluestreak's wide-flung doorwing. His audial fins flashed, staring after the silent gunner. A moment later, his helm flew back to the medbay, staring first at Sideswipe, then at Smokescreen. And then back again. Smokescreen chuckled aloud at Wheeljack's dumbfounded expression and the soft, curious glow of his audial fins.  
Prowler caught sight of Wheeljack, pulling himself as far up Sideswipe's body as he could to peer over his shoulder. He caught sight of the soft peach glow and chirped, his sparkling faceplates lighting up with delight as he cried out a happy little shout.  
"I… expected a bit more carnage," Wheeljack said, looking quickly between the two mechs. His optics ridges arched upwards. "Alright?"  
Smokescreen smiled, warm and bright, at the mechanic. "Yeah, 'Jack," he said slowly. He sighed, relaxing as Wheeljack started undoing the hinges for his torqued doorwing. The pressure, the clenching fist around his spark chamber had finally vanished. Across the medbay, Sideswipe was struggling to corral an excited Prowler, eager to watch Wheeljack and gurgle over his every movement. "You're missed too, you know." Smokescreen could feel Wheeljack's hands slip against his plating and felt the heavy stare of his optics on his back as he spoke. "We all miss you. The whole squad." Things hadn't been the same since Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had been removed from their squad.  
Sideswipe was struggling to keep Prowler from crawling off the medberth's edge. "Maybe I could tag along for a patrol sometime?" He grunted as Prowler kicked him, his little pede smacking his abdomen. "Or… just hang out?" Sideswipe wouldn't meet Smokescreen's optics. There was still too much shame inside of him.  
"We'd like that." Smokescreen hissed as Wheeljack finally pulled his torqued doorwing back into alignment. The pressure down his back uncoiled and he unclenched his fist, flexing his fingers. The cable rolling over his shoulder rippled free and he rotated his shoulder in its socket. His chest cables stretched, the hulking masses elongating and contracting in their powerful lines of cords. Wheeljack had made his way around to the front of Smokescreen's berth, eyeing his movements.  
"I always am a little surprised when I see your guys' cable strength, Smokescreen." Wheeljack's audial fins flashed as he reached for Smokescreen's shoulder, steadying his socket as he inspected the cables.  
Smokescreen's chest cables flexed again, contracting around his frame. "Got to have the strength for those doorwings, 'Jack." Smokescreen winked at the mechanic. "They aren't just for show, you know." Wheeljack chuckled once more as he continued adjusting Smokescreen's shoulder joint.  
Silently, Sideswipe watched as he finally gathered the squirming Prowler into his arms. Prowler fussed, wanting to be free, and Sideswipe slowly slid from the medberth and shuffled toward the door. It was time to get going.  
Still, he stopped as the doors slid open, turning to gaze back at Smokescreen. The tactician smiled and nodded once before wincing away from Wheeljack's prods. Sideswipe tried to smile back, but it wavered and faded. How was it that Smokescreen could forgive him what he'd done? How could he know Sideswipe so well? Why could even Smokescreen see how much Sideswipe loved Sunstreaker… and Sunstreaker couldn't see a thing?  
Or, wouldn't? Sideswipe's spark sputtered and he turned away, pushing out of the medbay. The pain was sinking in, deep into his spark.  
He loved Sunstreaker so much. Much more than Sunstreaker loved him.

***

La Porte, Texas, was just north of Johnson Space Center, tucked against Galveston Bay. It was an industrial town, the inhabitants supporting the Bayport Industrial District and the Galveston Bay shipping and mining operations. Dark, dingy, and full of folks willing to look the other way.  
It was the perfect place for Jazz, Mirage, and Bee to hide. Mirage had the hardest time maneuvering into the city - as always - and the team waited until nightfall to make their way through the dark side streets and alleyways of greater Houston and down to La Porte. Bee, covered in dirt and grime, fit right in, and led the way for his two more ostentatious teammates. It had taken 10 hours to drive from Tennessee to Houston, south through Mississippi and across Louisiana. Every three hours, the team had stopped, silent and without fanfare, and waited as Jazz drank a fortified cube of energon. The heat of the muggy Southern afternoon mixed with the heat and energy of the drive had finally proven too much, and at the Texas border, Jazz had pulled over and purged, heaving his hour-old energon into the swampy undergrowth and piney boughs that littered the side road gullies of their drive. Bee and Mirage had watched in stony silence, Mirage's optics blazing.  
"Let's get a move on," Jazz had said, his voice rough around his purge-worn throat. "We're already wasting too much time." He glared Mirage down as he shouldered past him, dropping into his alt mode and screaming back onto the roadway before them both. Bee and Mirage caught him a half an hour later.  
Bee led the team to an abandoned, darkened warehouse district, empty at nighttime and little used during the day, save for the unsavory elements. All three pulled into the back, scanning the area for any potential threats. Everything came back clean and they transformed out of their alt modes.  
"This is our base point," Jazz said, dropping to a low crouch. He leaned forward, drawing a quick map in the dirt. "Johnson Space Center is ten miles south. Bee, get out on the streets and start scanning for Decepticons. See if you can find out where they're hiding." Bee nodded as Jazz looked at him." "Mirage, get as high as you can and try to intercept any comms traffic. Look for Decepticon riders on human networks. Anything." Jazz turned toward the spy, waiting for his nod of acknowledgement.  
"How about a cube, Jazz?" Mirage crossed his arms, arching one slight optic ridge at his superior. "It's time for another."  
"I'm fine, Mirage." Jazz's tone was cutting, icy. "Get as high as you can –"  
"I could use a cube." Mirage didn't give up. "How about you, Bee?"  
Bee's hands flew up, his optics going wide as both Mirage and Jazz turned sharp glares on their third teammate. "I could have one." Jazz's glare turned furious. "Or I could leave one," Bee added quickly.  
Jazz pushed himself to his feet, turning away from the others. His processor spun, his vision running staticy for a second, and his footsteps faltered. One hand flew to his helm, rubbing his plating.  
"Jazz…" Mirage called, his arrogance replaced by exhaustion, worn thin. "Please."  
"We don't have time for this slag!" Jazz shouted, whirling back toward Mirage. "We do not have time for this! We have to find the Cons, now, before they make a move! I do not have time to argue with you about energon, or about my power levels, or about my feelings!" Jazz sneered, his voice turning deep and growling low over his words. "I am not going to let the Decepticons get the drop on us because my team is too concerned with what I've fragged to pay attention to the mission!"  
Mirage shook his helm, glaring back at Jazz. "That's not-"  
"I'm not going to let the Decepticons win!" Jazz shouted, pointing at Mirage viciously. "Not over this!"  
Silence. Bee looked away. Mirage said nothing, but his optics narrowed to slits as he stared at Jazz.  
"Get going," Jazz growled. "We need to know where they are." He turned away again, walking into one of the abandoned warehouses and leaving his teammates to their tasks. He had to study the Johnson Space Center diagrams, try to figure out the best way to defend the center… without the humans knowing.  
He stumbled as he walked though, and he reached out for the warehouse wall, leaning against it one-handed. Exhaustion that he'd been holding back for the entirety of the drive pushed its way forward. Jazz sighed, a spark-weary sigh, and let his helm pitch forward as he leaned back, sliding down the warehouse wall until he was sitting on the ground. His optics offlined as his helm fell back, hitting the metal with a solid thump.  
Silently, he reached for his subspace, pulling out another cube and tube of additives. He mixed the two together, tipping the additives into the cube and shaking the mixture around, swirling it in his hands.  
A moment later, he hurled the empty tube, sending it crashing against the opposite wall of the derelict warehouse. The entire building echoed, the clanging of the tube against the rotten metal lingering in the dark air. Jazz's expression twisted, pettiness spewing forth at the base fit of temper.  
He stretched his legs, letting them fall forward as he raised his cube, taking a long, slow drag. He couldn't deny his systems needed the energy.  
Unbidden, his thoughts wandered, moving from his team and their mission to the rest of the Ark crew. Prime was on his way… as was Prowl and his strike team. They were probably already in the area, already set up. Jazz knew he had to make contact… but that meant comming Prowl again, and listening to his pleas. Listening to his desperation. His anger. Hearing his voice. Hearing the hurt and the pain.  
Jazz pushed his thoughts away quickly, turning back to the mission at hand. The Decepticons were here, somewhere. He had to find them. He had to.  
Suddenly, Jazz bolted upright, his hands pressing down over his abdomen. The softest of strokes, a tiny, and far, far too-deep, movement shifted through his body. His processor, already unsteady, tilted, his gyroscope and equilibrium knocked off balance by the swirling sensation deep within. He hissed, his hands pressing down on his plating.  
It happened again. A gentle nudge, a soft stroke, somewhere within his body… within his tanks.  
His sparkling was moving.  
For a long moment, Jazz didn't move. He couldn't. His optics blazed, his visor streaked with white bursts of static. His hands pressed into his abdomen plating, hard.  
Jazz's discarded cube sailed through the air, slamming into warehouse walls. Maroon energon, tinged with additives, slipped down the rotten metal as Jazz stormed from the dark building.

  
***

  
Smith Point, Texas, was as forgotten a place as one could find. The ramshackle town, more abandoned than inhabited, clung to the western edge of the Anahuac Wildlife Refuge, the furthest town outlying on the East Bay peninsula across from Houston. Smith Point pushed itself into Galveston Bay, almost falling off into the center of the murky waters. It was lonely in Smith Point, dark and isolated, and far, far out of the way. It was a good place to hide a strike team and to wait for Prime's arrival.  
Directly west of Smith Point, across Galveston Bay, was Johnson Space Center. 20 miles across the open waters. Prowl's optics searched the night, staring into the darkness as he stood on the dirt banks of Smith Point's furthest outcropping. Somewhere across the bay, Jazz was lying in wait, trying to track the Decepticons.  
Noisy footsteps, heavy and shuffling, broke into his pensive stare. A kick, and the mech behind him sent a rock sailing into the bay. The small boulder splashed heavy in the darkness, a deep, wet slurp echoing in the night.  
Yellow plating finally sulked into view next to Prowl, crouching low on the mist-wet banks. Sunstreaker grabbed at the loose caliche gravel, idly flinging rocks into the bay. His scowl twisted with every throw, his optics darkening.  
"Any word from Prime?" Prowl asked, his voice soft.  
"They'll land in about an hour," Sunstreaker grunted back. "Skyfire is coming in dark. He'll ping our comms when he's in range."  
Prowl nodded, slowly. Wheeljack's shuttle had landed dark as well, no running lights or heat signature, and had set down in the middle of the marshes, far away from any prying human eyes in the dark night. Prowl's strike team, already tired of being cooped up on board, had tumbled off and spread out, exploring the spit of land they had commandeered as their staging ground. One minute later, they were bored again.  
Prowl had caught the dark looks cast between Cliffjumper and Sunstreaker, too. Cliffjumper hadn't wanted to see Sunstreaker again, ever if he could help it. He and Windcharger had set themselves apart from the rest of the group, talking in low voices that carried through the shuttle and sending heated glares toward Sunstreaker throughout takeoff. It was no wonder that Sunstreaker had vanished to the habitation deck as quickly as he had.  
Inferno, Trailbreaker, and Hound had ensconced themselves on a bluff overlooking the Gulf, listening to Hound share his repository of information on the constellations, native birds, fish, and fauna, all while readying their weapons and staying alert. Prowl caught a few sideways looks sent Sunstreaker's way. Sunstreaker caught them too and glared back, fierce.  
Another rock plunged into the bay, splashing loud. Sunstreaker's vents huffed, irritation rolling off him in thick waves.  
Prowl knew he should care. He should be frustrated, irritated, should take a leadership role in uniting the strike team. He should take charge, be in command. He should distance himself from all of his tumbling, swirling, raging emotions.  
But he couldn't. He couldn't pull himself away from his spark, couldn't separate himself from the pain. He'd never had to, in the past. He'd never had to act, to command, when everything was so close. So personal. So deeply personal. Too many ties had been made and had been forged between him and others. He both needed and hated having Sunstreaker at his side. He was terrified for Jazz, agonizing over every moment. He was overwhelmed with thoughts of the Decepticons – why now? What was happening? What were they doing? Where were the patterns? What was the logic?  
He couldn't see it. The way behind him had been closed, the path obscured. Prowl's emotions had closed in, clouding over all of his formerly pristine judgment, his perfect distance from the crew and from his spark.  
Prowl's processor spun hot, aching. Pressures were building, within and without. Something was coming to a head, tonight, and Prowl wasn't certain he was ready to face it. The loss of his objectivity was terrifying. Suddenly, everything meant so much more. There was so much more to lose, and lose forever. How was he supposed to command now?  
Crippled confidence scratched at the back of his processor, pulling on his last, dangling circuit. He just didn't have the strength in him to fight anymore. Not against the world and everything else. Not against Jazz. Not against his spark.  
Prowl heaved a long sigh and slowly crouched down, squatting on the bankside. His optics never left the far side of the bay, staring into the glittering lights of Greater Houston. Jazz… he swallowed, shaking his helm. I'm sorry.

  
***

  
_Thwap – thwap. Thwap –thwap. Thwap – thwap._  
Smokescreen grasped the rubber ball in his palm, squeezing hard. He stared at the door to the cargo hold, the crews' makeshift rec area, and hefted the ball at the door once more. _Thwap – thwap._ He caught it one-handed, clenching it in his palm.  
His shoulder was fine. Wheeljack had done a great job of setting him back to rights. A few adjustments to his cables, and everything was back to sorts. Smokescreen had walked out of the medbay feeling pretty good, both about his shoulder, and about his conversation with Sideswipe. Things were looking up.  
At least, on one front. Smokescreen sighed, frowning, and opened a comm line. "Smokey to Bluester. What the slag? You coming or not?"  
Finally, the doors opened, a long moment into the silent comm call. "Yeah yeah," Bluestreak grumbled. "I'm here already, alright? No need to comm half the ship. Besides, this is just a stupid human game. I could be playing Modern Attack Strike 7." Bluestreak glared, his expression sour.  
Smokescreen's doorwings flared wide. He stared back at Bluestreak. "What crawled in your gearbox and died?" he finally asked.  
"Frag off," Bluestreak snapped. "I'm not in the mood for this slag." He turned away, heading for the door.  
_Thwap!_ Smokescreen hurled the handball at the door, slamming it into the plating just to the side of Bluestreak's helm and just barely above his tense doorwing. Smokescreen knew just how the vibrations would feel, scattering over his sensor array.  
Wincing, Bluestreak whirled around. "What the frag, Smokescreen?" he shouted. "Trying to be more of an aft?"  
"I'm trying to be an aft?" Smokescreen's optics shot sky high. "You're out of your processor! You've been a complete slagger all day!"  
"Whatever!" Bluestreak grunted, glaring hard. He stepped forward. "You're the fragging idiot!"  
"What the slag is that supposed to mean?" Smokescreen's hands and doorwings flared wide again, incredulity on his face. "How am I the idiot? I haven't done anything!"  
"Yeah, yeah, sure, you can try and play innocent, but guess what, I heard you, Smokes." Bluestreak pressed forward, his finger pointed right at Smokescreen. "I fragging heard you this morning, talking to him. I couldn't fragging believe it!" Bluestreak shouted. "But you know what, go right ahead. Go, and fragging get your spark broken again, and fall flat on your face. Again." Bluestreak gave a quick little bow, his doorwings vibrating with his emotions. "This time, though, don't come to me for help!" he shouted, finally raising his voice over his irate grumble.  
"You'd better check your circuits, Bluestreak," Smokescreen growled. "I don't know what you're fragging shorting out on, but-"  
"I fragging heard you!" Bluestreak shouted, interrupting. "I heard you and Sideswipe in the medbay this morning! I went to check on you, 'cause you know, I was worried. Friends worry 'bout their friends when they're hurt, and I wanted to make sure your 'wing was alright." Bluestreak glared, fuming. His doorwings ticked upwards. "Guess what I walked in on. You and Sideswipe confessing your love for each other."  
Smokescreen snorted, turning away from Bluestreak as he shook his helm. "You have no fragging idea what you're talking about," he snarled.  
"I fragging heard you!" Bluestreak shouted again. "'You've been alone for so long, Siders,'" Bluestreak mimicked. "'I know you, Sideswipe.' I know what you need." Bluestreak shook his helm. "Is that your angle? You know what he needs? You know what Sunny isn't giving him? That how you're trying to get back in his berth?  
"I'm not trying to get into his fragging berth!" Smokescreen bellowed, whirling on Bluestreak. "What the slag is wrong with you that you would think that?"  
"The slag is wrong with me?" Bluestreak shouted back. "The slag is wrong with you! You've been mooning over him for years, even back on Cybertron! You finally get him, and guess what, he's a freak. But, he's not happy being a freak, and you're going to try and win him back-"  
Smokescreen moved quickly, closing the distance between him and Bluestreak. "You fragging shut up, Blue," he growled, his voice low. He pressed close to Bluestreak's plating. "You power down your fragging vocalizer."  
Bluestreak glared right back. "Hit a circuit, did I?"  
They were plating-to-plating, nose-to-nose, raging optics to raging optics, snarling at each other, when the battle alert screamed online.

***

The fireball bloomed over NASA, tearing the night sky in two and lighting the entire Galveston Bay region in a brilliant orange glow.  
Jazz's comm crackled online. "Jazz, we found the Decepticons." Bee's voice was strained and the echoes of the explosion were louder over the comm signal.  
Jazz was already running. He dropped into his alt mode, tires squealing as he peeled out of the industrial park. "Where are you?"  
"Take the 146 South and then cut off on NASA 1." Another explosion echoed over the comm channel behind Bee and the channel faded briefly into static. "It will take you straight to the JSC."  
Jazz cursed. Humans always had to have convoluted highway systems. Nothing was the same. He gunned his engine as he spotted the turn for the highway. "I'm on it!"  
"Jazz…" Mirage's voice cut into the comm. "We found them all."

***

Prime had just landed with Skyfire, Ratchet, and Ironhide at Smith Point when the fireball erupted over Galveston Bay. The waters of the Bay turned to liquid fire, reflecting the burning glow of the sky. Prime stopped speaking mid-sentence. His mouth dropped open, his vocalizer grinding to a halt.  
Prowl whirled around, his doorwings flaring wide. His optics blazed, shorting with panic and fear. _Jazz!_ His spark screamed. A shaky, breathy gasp was all he could manage.  
"Prime to Jazz!" Prime recovered first and activated his comm. "What's going on?" Silence.  
Skyfire scanned across the bay, triangulating the explosion. "That was NASA, Prime," Skyfire said quickly. "Johnson Space Center."  
Prowl whirled around. "We have to go," he snapped. "We have to go, now!" Gone was his control, gone was his calm. "The others are over there."  
Prime's long gaze settled on Prowl, staring into his panicked optics for a moment that stretched long into silence. An orange glow stretched over the bay and coated their bodies, turning their plating into firestorms of color. Prowl's optics were seas of fractured blue, crackling to panicked streaks of white as his gaze pressed back against Prime's.  
Prime had a moment's flash of insight strike into his spark. _This is not the Prowl I know._ The thought fit perfectly into the murky jigsaw puzzle that had become his two commanding officers and their surprising relationship. Something had been off, something personal had been deeply, bitterly wrong between them, but Prime had always had faith that they would rise above and persevere over personal squabbles. They had for all the long years of the war. What now had changed?  
He didn't have time to ruminate on the matter. "Everyone transform and roll out!" Prime barked. He dropped down into his alt mode and turned toward Skyfire. The large shuttle had already lowered his loading ramp for the mechs to board. "Prowl, take command of the shuttle. Keep trying to raise Jazz and the others." He watched Prowl take off in a dead run toward the shuttle he and the strike team had arrived in.  
Something heavy settled in his spark and his tanks, and Prime exhaled as he settled into Skyfire's hold. Something was tugging at his processor, something dark and foreboding.

***

Prowl kept close to Skyfire, flying tight on his wing as the two shuttles zoomed fast and low over Galveston Bay. The fireball had erupted from deep within Johnson Space Center, and they set their headings straight for it.  
Silent minutes ticked by as they flew. Prowl's hands clenched on the controls, his fingers tapping a manic pattern of worry and frustration. Hound sat at the comms station onboard the shuttle, trying to raise Jazz, Mirage, or Bee over and over. There was no answer.  
"Might be the explosion," Sunstreaker grunted, shifting until he was standing behind Hound. His forearm pressed against the bulkhead above Hound, one hand steadying himself against the back of Hound's chair. The shuttle was flying so fast it trembled, the plating vibrating beneath their hands and feet. He glowered down at the controls, not meeting Hound's gaze. "Coulda fragged up the comms." He shrugged, still not looking at Hound.  
Hound tried to smile at the yellow twin. His lips pressed in a hard, thin line, and worry sat deep in his optics. "Thanks Sunny," he whispered.  
Sunstreaker shrugged and looked away. Still, he stayed next to Hound and listened as Hound tried raising the team again. "Mirage… If you can hear us… We're on our way."  
Finally, static crackled back across the comms channel. Hound spared a moment to throw a relieved, happy grin up toward Sunstreaker. "Hound!" Mirage shouted through the static. "Watch your incoming vector!"  
Hound's helm whipped to the pilot's chair. He opened his mouth, trying to call out for Prowl, but the shuttle was already under attack. Heavy streaks of lasers, thick bolts of Seeker fire and ground cannons shot through the sky, zipping over and above the shuttle. Laser bolts sizzled into the bay's surface, hissing steam around the shuttle's plating. They appeared out of the smoke, surrounding the shuttle and Skyfire in a storm of burning light.  
"Frag!" Prowl spun the shuttle, twirling wing over wing as he rose and twisted out of the line of fire. The laser fire snaked after their shuttle, chasing them down.  
"Prowl, we are going to miss our landing zone." Skyfire's voice was deceptively calm across the comm channel.  
"I'm taking us in as far as we can go!" Prowl shouted back. He cut the comm before Skyfire could respond. "Everybody hang on!" Prowl called over his shoulder. Sunstreaker and Hound's optics met quickly, growing wide as Prowl gunned the shuttle's throttle and pressed hard. The bay disappeared beneath them, replaced by scrawling concrete and industry. Prowl pressed lower, dipping beneath the laser fire, barely skimming just inches above lines of parked cars on the streets below.  
The shuttle was shaking, trembling all around. Hound's hands gripped down on his console and Sunstreaker grabbed the back of his chair. One hand slipped, falling to Hound's shoulder. Hound grabbed it, steadying Sunstreaker before he fell.  
"Think he'll take us all the way like this?" Hound's optics flashed to Sunstreaker's. Johnson Space Center was six miles away and closing fast.  
"Fraggin' lucky if we get there," Sunstreaker grunted back. Hound looked away.  
They didn't make it.  
The Coneheads appeared, swooping low from the clouds above and flying straight at Prowl's shuttle. Cursing, Prowl veered off his crazed drive and swung the shuttle sideways. He twisted, barely in control, and the shuttle scrapped against the ground and across the concrete. Cars were flung aside as their wing edge dug into the ground, flipping the cars akimbo across a thankfully-empty parking lot. Grunting, Prowl finally shook the shuttle's spin, but not in time to stop the thump of a bad landing and their slide beneath an overpass. The shuttle bumped against the pylons holding the NASA 1 highway above and shuddered to a halt, protected by the concrete road overhead.  
The Coneheads zoomed above, circling and raining laser blasts down at the highway.  
Sunstreaker and Hound shared a quick, breathless look, checking over each other once quickly.  
"Everybody out!" Prowl shouted, slapping at the control to lower the loading ramp. "Take cover and press back!" He grabbed at his pulse rifle as he jumped out of the pilot's chair and ran.  
Sunstreaker caught the wild sheen to his optics.  
Cursing, he tore after him, grabbing his pulse rifle and ignoring Hound's shouts for him to wait.

  
***

  
"Autobots to the Hangar. Decepticon attack in progress at JSC. Autobots to the Hangar. Decepticon attack in progress."  
Sideswipe stared at the Ark's mottled orange ceiling. His mouth fell open, a pained, choked gasp escaping from his vocalizer. No! Sunstreaker was out there. They couldn't be under attack. Not now, not with everything else going on. Sunny! His processor was screaming, all of his emotions tangling and narrowing down to one, single, quivering, panicked emotion. His brother was out there and in danger. The Decepticons were attacking, were banking everything they had on a final push. If Sunstreaker was injured, if he was hurt, if he was killed, Primus forbid, and Sideswipe never got a chance to tell him how much he was loved… Sideswipe shook his helm. He had to go. He wouldn't leave Sunstreaker alone. Not now. Not ever.  
Sideswipe tore out of his quarters, Prowler in his arms. The alert had sent Prowler into a fit of hiccupping sobs. The alert had never boded well for the sparkling. Prowler clung to Sideswipe as Sideswipe ran down the corridors. Finally, Sideswipe palmed at the medbay doors and ducked inside, skittering to a halt in front of a wide-optic'd and shocked Wheeljack.

***

Wheeljack's audial fins flashed white-bright. "Sideswipe!" He backed up a step. "What's up?"

Swallowing deeply, Sideswipe took a deep breath. He pressed one of his hands against Prowler's little helm, then rubbed his faceplates over his sparkling's. He kissed his helm, then his nose, then both of his tiny hands. Finally, he exhaled, gritting his denta, and held Prowler out to Wheeljack. "'Jack, I need you to take him," he began. His vocalizer only shorted once.  
"What?" Wheeljack's optics and audial fins flared. He stared at Sideswipe. "Are you crazy? What do you mean?"  
"I'm going with the shuttles, Wheeljack," Sideswipe said, nodding as if to convince himself. "I will not leave Sunny out there alone. I won't. I can't." He shook his helm and stepped forward, holding Prowler out to Wheeljack. "I need your help. I need to you take Prowler."  
"No, Sides..." Wheeljack backed away, waving his hands. "You're crazy. I can't."  
"Take him!" Sideswipe pressed forward, still holding his crying sparkling out before him. "Wheeljack, take him!"  
"Sides! No!"  
"Take him!" Sideswipe's ragged shout tore through the medbay, a raw shriek of pained emotion. He sputtered, his vocalizer spitting static as his optics flashed white.  
Prowler started wailing, long wet screams as his tiny faceplates contorted in rage. His legs kicked out blind, searching for a hold. He was never held this way, held under his arms over the open air.  
"Take him," Sideswipe whispered, stepping quickly to Wheeljack. "I am going. I have to. I cannot leave Sunstreaker alone out there when they are facing the entire Decepticon army. He doesn't have a squad. He doesn't have a teammate. It's supposed to be me. I have to go to him."  
Wheeljack stared at Sideswipe's trembling faceplates. He tried to speak, but couldn't find the words. "Sides… You're crazy. This is… Prowler is your sparkling. You can't leave him!"  
"And Sunstreaker is the love of my life. I can't leave him either." Sideswipe's words were choked, grinding over his gears. "I am begging you," Sideswipe whispered. He bit his lip, his optics bursting with anguish. "Please help me." Static underlay his whispered plea.  
Wheeljack stared at Sideswipe. He couldn't breathe, and his optics searched deep within Sideswipe's trembling gaze. "Fraggit!" Wheeljack cursed. He turned and slammed his data pad onto the medberth. "Fraggit it all to the rusted pits of lost bytes!" He screamed behind clenched denta and turned back to Sideswipe. He held out his arms.  
Prowler melted into his embrace, folding himself into Wheeljack's arms and over his chestplate. His sobs increased as he wailed his frustrations into a finally-welcoming pair of arms, and his little hand clenched onto the ridge of Wheeljack's chest. Hiccups shook his tiny body, and he gripped as close as he could to Wheeljack.  
Wheeljack stared at Sideswipe, frustrated and angry and with ten thousands things to say to him. One look into Sideswipe's optics froze his vocalizer. He'd remember the look in Sideswipe's optics until the day he offlined. Sideswipe was staring at Prowler with a raw mix of anguish and love, and buried beneath all of that, a terrible, dark resignation. He reached out with a shaking hand, stroking over Prowler's helm. Prowler just wailed harder and clung to Wheeljack. He didn't look at Sideswipe.  
Sideswipe pulled away, stepping back slowly. "Looks good on you," Sideswipe whispered to Wheeljack. He swallowed, licking his lips. "Being a parent. You'll be great." He nodded quickly, his optics still fixed to the back of his sparkling's head.  
"You're fragging coming back, Sides," Wheeljack finally said, sputtering past his stuck vocalizer. "You're fragging coming back!" He stepped forward, trying to chase Sideswipe down for Primus-knew-what, but Sideswipe kept backing away. He still wouldn't look at Wheeljack.  
"I love you, Prowler," Sideswipe whispered.  
"Sideswipe! Wait!" Wheeljack lunged, trying to grab at the red twin. Sideswipe turned and fled, disappearing out of the medbay and running down the corridor to the hangar. Wheeljack ran to the door and watched him flee. All the air in his engine vented out in a long exhale, a heavy, terrible sigh, and when he turned back to the medbay, the only thing he could see was the haunted look in Sideswipe's optics as he stared at Prowler and said his goodbye.  
Prowler hiccupped, dribbling a wet line of drool down Wheeljack's chestplate. He whimpered and pressed himself even closer, trying to crawl into Wheeljack's plating. Wheeljack rubbed his tiny backplates, stroking up and down, over and over, as he rocked the tiny sparkling in the silent, empty medbay.

  
***

  
Prowl, of course, didn't stay with his shuttle, nor did he cover fire and press back against the Coneheads firing down at them. He tore off, racing out from beneath the overpass and zooming down the highway toward the Johnson Space Center. Ahead, Prowl could make out the signs of a battle and the sight of laser fire being traded back and forth. His scanners flared wide, searching through the debris and the fighting.  
Finally, finally finally, they pinged against Jazz. He was alive and fighting against a squad of Decepticons on the far perimeter in a grassy field.  
He gunned his engine, opening up as much throttle as he was ever physically able to and tore straight for the battle. The visitors entrance had been barricaded, and Decepticons and what looked like Bumblebee were trading shots through the mangled debris. Ahead, there was a cordoned off section of fencing that had once been a separate entrance, but had been boarded up and chained off and was now ignored.  
Perfect. If Prowl could get through the laser blasts whizzing outside the gate, he could make a run at the secondary entrance. He pressed his engine harder, willing his body to move faster. He'd have to ram the gate at full speed.  
A second engine caught up to him, the overly loud roar thundering through the battle and rattling the concrete beneath his tires. Prowl's sensors tracked onto Sunstreaker following him and gaining ground, quickly moving on his tailpipe.  
"Sunstreaker," he called out over his comm. "You should have stayed with the shuttle!"  
"So should you," Sunstreaker snapped back. Petulantly he gunned forward, gaining on Prowl and coming alongside him. "Why are you going alone?"  
"Jazz is out there," Prowl growled back. "I have to do this. But you shouldn't be here!"  
"I'm already out here, Prowl," Sunstreaker growled and dodged a laser blast that cut the air between their bodies. "You can't protect me anymore." He spotted the gate and the heavy chains and barricade closing it off. "You going for that?"  
"Yes." Prowl accelerated, red lining his engine. "Stay behind me."  
Sunstreaker swerved, dropping bare inches behind Prowl. His bumper brushed against Prowl's, too close for words. Their speeds fell into synch, engines roaring. They were only feet from the gate now…  
Prowl slammed into the locked gate at full force, tearing the metal from the ground and sending it flying over his alt mode. The gate didn't break, and the metal scrapped and dragged along his plating as he drove under and through the passageway he had created. Sunstreaker stayed right on his bumper, bumping into him as they swerved through the barricade. The metal chains and the gate slammed down on Sunstreaker, scratching long lines down his alt mode as he pushed after Prowl.  
Hissing in pain, Prowl comm'd Sunstreaker. "You alright?"  
Sunstreaker grunted, ignoring the redlines popping up on his display. "Yeah," he snapped. "Fragging fine. Didn't need that paint anyway." They bounded ahead, driving off the road and onto a manicured lawnscape that stretched out toward the perimeter fencing. It was a large park by the looks of it, short clipped grass, trees lining the road, and a gentle, sloping mound in the center of the grassy field.  
"Jazz is dead ahead," Prowl said, ignoring Sunstreaker's sarcasm. Jazz was a dark, smeared figure in the distance, shooting laser blasts against a horde of Decepticons. "We just need to get through this park."  
Neither Prowl nor Sunstreaker saw the incoming burst of fire that exploded between their two bodies.

***

Smokescreen was standing before his squad and giving them all a quick rundown of what little they knew when he saw a burst of red tear onto the shuttle just before takeoff. His words died, shorting in his vocalizer, and he stared at Sideswipe as the red twin ran onboard.  
He stood there, awkward and alone and holding his rifle like he didn't know how to anymore. There was a limp to his run, one Smokescreen knew Sideswipe didn't even see. Sideswipe was panting. He must have run across half the base to get to the shuttle in time. Still, he just stood there, his optics darting around nervously as he searched for a place to sit and ready himself for the battle.  
What was he doing there? Where was Prowler? Wasn't Sunstreaker on du- Smokescreen's thoughts cut off abruptly. Of course. Sunstreaker had gone with Prowl. He was there, in the battle. So far, it wasn't going very well at all.  
Bluestreak stood next to Smokescreen, peering over his shoulder. His doorwings flared. "What's he doing here?" Bluestreak snapped. His optics narrowed.  
Smokescreen threw a dry scowl over his shoulder at Bluestreak. They hadn't said a word since they had torn from the cargo hold and raced to the shuttle. He really didn't want to talk to Bluestreak about Sideswipe. Not now. Maybe not ever.  
"Siders!" Smokescreen shouted across the shuttle's main deck. Helms whipped around, first staring at Smokescreen and then twisting until they spotted Sideswipe, trying to disappear into the consoles and controls of the shuttle. Sideswipe stared back, ignoring the silence that settled around the shuttle. "C'mere." Smokescreen waved him over.  
"What are you doing?" Bluestreak hissed. His optics glittered with rage.  
"He's on our squad!" Smokescreen whirled around, staring Bluestreak down. "I don't want to hear it, Blue. He's on our squad. He always will be."  
Bluestreak's expression twisted, fuming, and he glared back at Smokescreen without breaking their steel-hard gaze. Finally, he twisted away as Sideswipe came near, utterly unable to look the red twin in the optic. He fumed silently, staring at the bulkhead.  
Smokescreen watched him for a long moment, then turned to Sideswipe. "Glad you made it," Smokescreen said softly. He reached out, resting one hand on Sideswipe's shoulder. "It's pretty bad out there, Siders." He wasn't going to lie to him. "As soon as we get close enough for an intel map, we'll come up with a plan."  
Sideswipe nodded and gave Smokescreen one of the most shaky and thankful smiles he'd ever seen in his entire life.

***

Sunstreaker cursed and ducked back behind his flaming oak tree. The trunk was just big enough to hide behind, but it was burning to the ground, and soon his cover would be gone. He couldn't get away, though. Every time he tried to run to another tree, or run back to the road, Starscream and another Seeker – Skywarp, he thought – kept taking pot shots at him. He was pinned and he couldn't move.  
One huge burn scorched from his hip and up his side, wrapping around from his shoulder to his backplates. The laser blast from Starscream had caught both him and Prowl off guard and had sent them both flying through the air as the earth had exploded beneath them. Dirt and fire rained down on Sunstreaker as he landed, and he desperately had clawed his way to the oak tree as the Seekers' laser fire continued to rain down.  
He'd lost Prowl for a moment, but spotted him dodging and running, more crazy than he and Sideswipe had ever been combined, straight for Jazz and his battle with the Decepticons. He was running across open ground, the stupid fragger, and it was all that Sunstreaker could do to distract the Seekers and keep them focused on him. He'd managed, somehow, and now his hideout was burning to the ground and they were intent on offlining him permanently. Prowl had managed to get to Jazz, but Sunstreaker still thought he got the raw end of this deal. He frowned, gritting his denta, and listened for the roar of the Seeker turbines. He'd bring one of them down before the end. He would.

***

Across the grassy field, Prowl had finally caught up with Jazz. He slid gracelessly into the grass and dirt next to Jazz, tumbling on his plating with a Seeker hot on his aft. He rolled, sighting Thundercracker above and fired, managing to get Thundercracker to veer off.  
Jazz whirled around, staring at Prowl open-mouthed.  
"Hi," Prowl managed breathlessly. He was on his back, doorwings spread wide on the grass as he lay flopped akimbo behind Jazz's hasty barricade of a picnic table. He had his rifle in a tight grip as he tracked Thundercracker's flight path.  
"Are you crazy?" Jazz shouted at Prowl. He stared behind him, at the open field, the swirling Seekers above firing down, and the havoc of the battle Prowl had left behind. The main battle was situated around the entrance to the JSC, and Skyfire and Prime's arrival had backed up Bumblebee and the rest of the mechs in Prowl's strike team. They were making a push to the interior, but Prowl and Jazz were so far ahead of everyone else. "What are you doing here?" Jazz shouted, just as another laser blast slammed into the dirt in front of his barricade. They ducked down, leaning into each other.  
"I'm not leaving you!" Prowl shouted back. He spotted a Seeker passing overhead, and he raised his rifle, sighting the incoming flier.  
Jazz groaned behind gritted denta, a roar of frustration as he turned away from Prowl and fired over the barricade at the Combaticons. The Combaticons had set up a perimeter around the Constructicons, who were furiously working at the center of the sloping hill and digging into the earth.  
"You're a fragging idiot, Prowl!" Jazz shouted over his rifle's blasts.  
Prowl fired up at the Seeker taking aim at Jazz and him below, sending he Seeker veering away again. "I am not leaving you," he repeated, firm. His optics slid sideways to Jazz, and Jazz twisted to glare at him. Their gaze froze together, hardening. Jazz's rage, his pure, black rage pushed over his glare, breaking against Prowl's desperate yearn for Jazz. Prowl's spark leapt, lodging deep in his throat as his optics shifted, his pained love searching for something in jazz.  
Jazz snarled and turned away, firing at the Combaticons.  
Prowl's expression twisted as he fired on the Seekers again. His spark was burning, and something close to sparkbreak was howling through him. He squeezed down on his rifle's trigger, trying to send his raging emotions away with his laser fire.  
It didn't work.

***

"We're close enough for an intel map." Perceptor's voice trailed back from the shuttle's flight pod and into the main deck. "Squad leaders to the center console, please."  
A holomap appeared over the central console on the main deck, showing a relief map of the Johnson Space Center and the battle taking place. Figures outlined in red were the Decepticons, blue the Autobots. The battle was scattered across the complex, with fits and bunches of attacks happening at the entrance, the flight control center, and along the road leading to the perimeter fencing. Far off and fading almost off the map were two Autobot signals facing off against the Combaticons and Constructicons. Seekers flew overhead, taking pot shots on easy targets.  
Smokescreen's optics swept the holomap. His gears clenched and his throat closed as he scanned the map and couldn't find Sunstreaker. He knew he was with Prowl. Where was the yellow twin? _Dear Primus, please let nothing have happened to him._  
A burst of blue appeared suddenly, firing from behind a staticy tree. Smokescreen exhaled, long and loud. Sunstreaker's ident code flashed over the blue figure, but faded back to static as he hung close to the oak tree. Static cut in and out along the image.  
"What's going on here?" He pointed at the tree, and an exploded version of the map hovered above, showing the area in real-time detail. Smokescreen's optics flared, flashing bright as he saw the raging inferno that had engulfed the oak. He swallowed, watching Sunstreaker try – and fail - to escape.  
"We're landing in two minutes!" Perceptor called back. A landing zone indicator appeared on the holomap. Smokescreen traced the quickest route to Sunstreaker. He paused as he caught sight of a mangled gate, seemingly already blown apart. He nodded and turned away, heading back to his squad.  
Bluestreak's stormy optics met his as he drew near. Smokescreen looked away, instead turning to Sideswipe. He smiled down at the red twin, though it was thin and stretched with worry. "Alright, this is what we're doing," he began. He laid out the battle and how it had spread wide, and the pockets of fighters spread over the center. "There's something going on in the far field where Jazz and Prowl are, he said quickly. "We're going to head there and try and back them up." His optics flashed to Sideswipe. "But first, we're going to rescue Sunstreaker."  
Sideswipe stiffened, his backstruts locking up as he met Smokescreen's gaze. His faceplates twitched as he gripped his rifle.  
Smokescreen continued, ignored Bluestreak's heavy, heaving sigh behind him. "Sunstreaker is pinned down by the Seekers on the way to Prowl and Jazz. Looks like he was helping them and got caught back in the trees. He's behind an oak tree, but it's on fire. Looks like it won't be there for very much longer." As he spoke, Sideswipe's optics kept getting brighter and brighter, turning white with emotion, though he didn't move a servo. Didn't say a word. "We're taking this entrance." Smokescreen showed them the busted gate on his data pad. "Form up single file outside the shuttle. I'm leading, then Sideswipe, Bluestreak." He nodded to each in turn. "We go hard and fast and don't stop." His optics flashed back to Sideswipe. "Our teammate needs us."

***

Sunstreaker was getting rather warm behind the oak tree. The flames had completely engulfed the towering tree and had spread wide across the lumbering branches that snaked in all directions. The Seekers were still firing on him, but it was lazy now, just enough to keep him from escaping the burning cover he had trapped himself with, but not enough to offline him. The Seekers were trading between firing on him and firing on Jazz and Prowl, and there wasn't anything Sunstreaker could do to help.  
He grunted, trying to inch further away from the burning tree. If he got too far, he was shot. If he stayed close, he was going to burn up. Already his plating was scorched in places, and his internals were spiking high with too much heat.  
Seeker fire slammed into the dirt before him, inches away. He skirted back, barely, feeling the flames licking along his backplates. Above, a branch broke off and fell to the grass beside him, sending a shower of flame and sparks in every direction. Sunstreaker ducked, trying to dodge the flames. Sparks burned over his forearm.  
Suddenly the Seekers were firing again, but not at him, and not at Jazz and Prowl. They were firing at the road leading to the park, slicing into the asphalt. Sunstreaker could hear the swerve of tires and the roar of engines, and finally, the sounds of laser shots firing back.  
He ran, tearing away from the burning oak tree and tumbled toward a new, not-on-fire tree. From his new vantage point, Sunstreaker could see the road curving toward him and the tear of three Autobots as they barreled their way toward the park. Above, the Seekers were firing down, but hidden in the shadows near the toppled gate that Sunstreaker and Prowl had forced their way through was Hound, firing up at the Seekers and forcing them to turn away.  
Sunstreaker's optics caught on the three Autobots racing toward him. His spark jolted as he saw Smokescreen's alt mode fly through the air as he careened off the road and into the park, skidding on the grass as he landed off balance. A wide fishtail, and then he was back on course, gunning hard for Sunstreaker. Two more mechs followed behind, and Sunstreaker strained to see.  
His vents choked and died entirely as he spotted the mech following Smokescreen. His spark, already raging from the battle, exploded, a rush of emotions tearing across him in every which way. Elation, joy, rage, fury, confusion, wonderment, and bitter, bitter despair flooded through him. His hands clenched down on his rifle, nearly tearing it in half. What was Sideswipe doing here? And with him?  
Sideswipe pushed ahead of Smokescreen as soon as he hit the grass of the park. "Sunny!" Sideswipe shouted, redlining his engine as he tore toward his brother. "Sunny!" He didn't stop to transform. He was tearing over the grasses in his alt mode and then flying through the air, skidding on his hands and knees as he stumbled and tripped and finally landed right in front of Sunstreaker. He was panting, breathless, and trembling, and his optics were too bright and filled with crazed determination. "Sunny," he whispered, reaching for his brother.  
Smokescreen and Bluestreak swerved into place nearby, transforming and dropping into their alt modes. "Cover for Hound!" Smokescreen ordered, sighting the Seekers above. He fired, and Hound dropped into his alt mode and made the rush, tearing across the road to their position in the park.  
Sunstreaker ignored it all. He stared at Sideswipe. "What are you doing here?" His optics shifted over Sideswipe, trying to take it all in.  
Sideswipe pulled his rifle from subspace and slammed his laser core online. He swallowed as the rifle hummed to life, and he squared his shoulders, looking straight into Sunstreaker's gaze. "I won't leave you, Sunny," he said, conviction in his voice. "If you think for one minute that I will stand by and let you fight this battle alone, then you're fragging glitched." He turned and covered Hound, dropping to his firing stance. "I will never leave you," he said again. His optics burned into Sunstreaker's, brighter than the burning oak tree, and encompassing so much more than the battle.  
"They're coming around for another pass!" Bluestreak shouted. He fired first, taking aim on the Seekers as Hound skidded to a stop nearby.  
Hound transformed and jogged to Sunstreaker's side, clapping him on the shoulder. "I was trying to get to you, Sunny," Hound said, squeezing on his plating. "Had to get the cavalry though." He grinned and pushed past Sunstreaker, heading for Smokescreen. They spoke quickly, hands cutting through the air as they described the battle taking place across the open park and Jazz and Prowl, cut off and alone.  
All at once, Sunstreaker's helm was wrenched to the side, and two hands were gripping at his audial fins. His optics flared and he tried to struggle, but Sideswipe held him still. Sideswipe's hands were cupping his face, and despite his rough jerk-around, Sideswipe's optics were glowing with tenderness and longing. One hand slowly stroked down his faceplates. "I love you," Sideswipe whispered. He leaned forward, pressing a hot, wet kiss against Sunstreaker's lipplates, sucking his lower lip into his mouth before biting it. Sunstreaker hissed and jerked back. "I love you," Sideswipe whispered again. This time, his optics were smiling.  
"We're moving out!" Smokescreen shouted. He motioned toward the open park, and Jazz and Prowl. "Everyone get ready!"  
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker moved as one, covering while the other ran, shooting while the other reloaded, and never taking their optics off each other. The squad tore across the park, shooting at the Seekers above and the Combaticons ahead. Prowl's helm whipped around as they started firing, searching for the incoming support. A smile stole over his faceplates as he saw the approaching Autobots.

***

By the time Smokescreen's squad arrived, the Constructions had torn the hill apart. Mounds of grass and dirt were flung everywhere, piled haphazardly in their crazed excavations. Beneath all of the flung dirt, the Constructions had found what they were searching for: the launch access for a hidden bunker deep within the grassy park. The ground began to vibrate, and the roar of the battle increased, a deep hum that shook the very air.  
"What's going on?" Smokescreen shouted as he collapsed next to Prowl. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker took up positions next to Jazz, each taking turns firing.  
"They're digging for something!" Prowl shouted back. "We haven't been able to get close. Don't know what."  
Smokescreen nodded. His optics swept the park area. There were more picnic tables nearby. "Cover us!" He shouted, reaching out to tap Prowl on the shoulder. "We're fanning out. Give them more targets to chase."  
Smokescreen ran with Bluestreak, tearing out from behind the picnic table with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker in tow. They headed for the next picnic table. Hound stayed behind, helping Prowl and Jazz. "Give them something to think about," Smokescreen shouted at Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.  
Twin smiles and glowing optics flashed back at him. "We always do," Sideswipe grinned. Bluestreak snorted as he started firing, but Smokescreen grinned right back. It felt like the old days, for just a moment, and despite the roaring battle, a sense of calm filled his spark. He fired at the Combaticons covering for the Constructicons in tandem with Bluestreak, Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe.

***

Everything was going just fine until the Combaticons decided to charge.  
Brawl and Onslaught tore down the hill toward their hiding spot. Smokescreen's optics grew huge as he watched their berserker charge. They were coming, and nothing that he was firing was stopping them.  
"Sunny!" Sideswipe leapt over their picnic table barricade and charged the two berserkers, Sunstreaker right on his tail. They leapt as one, crashing into the two Combaticons with a sickening, wet crunch. The four tumbled to the ground, and the melee was on, punches and kicks and violent snarling tearing over the field.  
Smokescreen tried to sight into the Combaticons, but the sharp whine of Seeker engines stopped him. Cursing, he turned and fired on the Seekers. "Blue, keep covering Sunny and Sides!" Bluestreak grunted.  
Sideswipe hadn't thought ahead on any of his plans. He hadn't thought anything beyond getting to Sunstreaker and making sure he was okay. He hadn't thought about jumping over the barricade, or taking on a full-strength Combaticon in combat, or even what tearing across a battlefield at full speed would do to his already battered body. He'd been ignoring it, favoring the rush of battle and the extra energy afforded by his raging spark and thrumming lines. But, as Brawl landed a searing punch to the side of Sideswipe's helm, Sideswipe realized he couldn't ignore his body's warnings any longer.  
He was slow. His recovery wasn't fast enough, and as he sidestepped to try and clear his helm and get away from Brawl, the Combaticon lunged again, this time wrapping him up and taking him to the ground. Sideswipe grunted as he fell hard, and Brawl landed squarely on top of him.  
Brawl pummeled Sideswipe, slamming his fists into Sideswipe's face and helm, over and over. Sideswipe sputtered, groaning, and tried to get free. His body was weakening, and he couldn't fight the Combaticon off. Brawl grunted, chuckling, and slammed his fist into Sideswipe's faceplates.  
Sunstreaker's yellow hand landing on Brawl's shoulder was the only warning the Combaticon received. Suddenly he was flying backwards, and Sunstreaker was on top of him. Onslaught was on the ground nearby, face down and motionless in the dirt, and Brawl was suddenly howling as Sunstreaker slammed into him, giving him the same punishment Sideswipe had just received. Sideswipe watched, dizzy, his optics seeing double, and rolled over, trying to take in his surroundings. He needed to crawl back to Smokescreen, but which way to go? He shook his helm again, gasping.  
His optics finally caught on Smokescreen and Bluestreak, each staring wildly and pointing up the hillside. Smokescreen was shouting, panicked, at Bluestreak to shoot, and Bluestreak was gritting his denta as he fired shot after shot. Sideswipe couldn't see what was happening, what had gotten them so riled up. There was roaring in his audials, a dark, heavy rush, and he couldn't shake it from his circuits. Stumbling, Sideswipe pushed himself to his feet. His breaths were heavy, panting and wet, and he struggled upward.  
"Sideswipe!"  
Sideswipe's optics finally focused and met Vortex's glittering, dark gaze, inches from his own. Cold malice fell from the Decepticon's optics, and something hard pressed against Sideswipe's plating. He looked down.  
The barrel of Vortex's pulse rifle shoved hard against his midsection. He gasped, looking back up into Vortex's optics.  
Vortex grinned, slowly. He pulled the trigger.  
Grunting, Sideswipe slumped forward, curling around the pulse rifle as he stumbled half into Vortex. Vortex's arm came around Sideswipe, cupping the back of his helm delicately as he shifted his rifle, scratching it up Sideswipe's chestplates. He pressed the rifle into his Autobot sigil. "Shhh," Vortex whispered, stroking Sideswipe's plating softly. His lipplates ghosted over Sideswipe's forehlem. "Shhh..." He fired again, shooting into Sideswipe's chestplates with a small, tender grin stretched over his faceplates.  
Distantly, Sideswipe heard screaming, heard shouting. He thought he heard his name. He tried to speak, tried to grunt, but all he could do was moan. He listed sideways, sliding off Vortex's plating as the Combaticon finally let him go. He fell to the ground, rolling sideways, and his optics caught sight of Sunstreaker, straining against Blast Off who had his arms pinned behind his back. Sunstreaker was wild, feral, ready to tear his own arms off to be free. He was shouting, but Sideswipe couldn't hear what he was saying. There was a hole in Sunstreaker's leg, and energon leaked from his thigh, but Sunstreaker didn't even notice.  
Behind Sideswipe, Vortex transformed and lifted effortlessly into the air. He hovered over Onslaught and swooped him up in his wind tunnel, then peeled off, screaming away from the hillside and the Constructicons. Blast Off finally let Sunstreaker go and transformed. Brawl clambered within his alt mode and they two disappeared, flying off as quickly as possible. Sideswipe's optics trailed lazily after Blast Off's contrail as they disappeared.

***

Sunstreaker ran to his side as soon as he was free. He dropped down bes Sideswipe, grabbing at his helm and shoulders, his hands fluttering uselessly over his body. Energon was pooling all around, a lake slowly turning into an ocean, staining the grass beneath. "Sides?" he grunted. He stared down, his optics searing into his brother's.  
"Oops," Sideswipe whispered. His voice was wet, his gears filled with energon. He coughed, and energon pooled at the corner of his mouth. His optics were dimming, and he tried to cycle them back on with a ragged sigh. Listlessly, his hand reached for Sunstreaker, wet and energon-stained. Sunstreaker grasped it, squeezing too hard. "I'm sorry, Sunny," Sideswipe whispered again.  
"Shut up!" Sunstreaker shouted. Rage was slowly filling his optics as he stared at his brother. "You shut up!" he shouted. "Don't do a fragging thing. Ratchet will be here in a minute." He looked up, searching everywhere, his optics wild.  
Instead of Ratchet, Smokescreen ran to their sides. "Primus," Smokescreen breathed. "Sunny, we have to get out of here! This whole place is going to blow!" Smokescreen gestured behind them to the hillside.  
It was only then that Sunstreaker noticed the rumbling that had settled over the field, and the complete disappearance of the Seekers above. He whirled around, searching for Jazz and Prowl. They were fighting each other, it seemed, while racing toward the sloping hillside as steam erupted from the top of the hill.  
"What the slag is going on?" He glared at Smokescreen. "Where's Ratchet? I need Ratchet! Ratchet needs to get here! Now!"  
Bluestreak ran up behind Smokescreen, still watching the skies. "Ratchet is at the visitors entrance," he said quickly, not looking at Sideswipe. "They're struggling to hold that ground. He can't get over here."  
"We're going to have to take Siders to him." Smokescreen stared at Sunstreaker over Sideswipe's mangled body. Sideswipe was panting now, struggling for each inhale. Sunstreaker's hand clamped onto Sideswipe's, refusing to let go. "Sunny, you have to let me take him."  
Sunstreaker glared murderously at Smokescreen. "I'll take him," he hissed. He tried to heft Sideswipe into his arms, but his shot leg buckled beneath him and he couldn't stand. Sideswipe cried out at the fall, another trail of energon escaping from the corner of his mouth.  
"Sunny!" Smokescreen shouted. "We have to get out of here, and I can get Sideswipe back to Ratchet the fastest. We don't have time to argue about this!" He reached for Sideswipe and took him from Sunstreaker's grasp, rolling Sideswipe into his arms. He stood, and almost fell.  
The hillside trembled beneath them again, shaking violently. Bluestreak pitched to his side and Sunstreaker struggled to stand. A loud warning klaxon sounded, three long, loud beeps, and a grinding, screeching shriek suddenly erupted from the top of the hill. The shaking continued, grew worse, and suddenly, the nosecone of a rocket appeared, poking out from the hidden bunker beneath the park and the crest of the hill.  
"Go, go!" Bluestreak shouted. "We have to go!"  
Sunstreaker took off, running alongside Smokescreen as the doorwinger carried his brother. Sideswipe was gasping, panting and nearly offline. Energon had flooded his chestplates and was leaking from within, coating his plating and dripping onto Smokescreen, the ground, and everything else. Sunstreaker couldn't take his optics off his brother's face. He willed his brother to online his optics, to keep breathing, to keep being stubbornly alive.  
"Sunny," Sideswipe moaned. "Sunny…" his voice was choked, wet with energon.  
"I'm right here, Sides!" Sunstreaker shouted. His leg was burning and he was struggling to keep up. Smokescreen kept inching ahead of him. Already Sunstreaker was limping, and his knee joint was sending out warning signals of imminent failure. "Sides!"  
Sunstreaker finally stumbled and fell. He tumbled to the dirt inelegantly, rolling and skidding on his chestplates, and watched Smokescreen press on, carrying Sideswipe as he ran for Ratchet and the medical shuttle. Sideswipe's voice echoed in his processor, repeating on an endless loop as Hound and Bluestreak each grabbed at his arms and hauled him up. They took off, supporting Sunstreaker between them, and followed after Smokescreen.

***

"Jazz!" Prowl shouted, grabbing at Jazz's arm. "You cannot go down there!" He was shouting as loud as he could, but still, he could barely hear himself over the roar coming from deep within the bunker.  
"I can get in there!" Jazz shouted back. "I can get down to the controls and shut that thing down!" They were at the base of the hill that sheltered the hidden bunker, and just at the top was the entrance. The metal launch cover had just slid aside and the nosecone of the secret rocket within had risen up. Loud warning klaxons echoed around the park. Jazz knew he could get inside the bunker if he just had a few minutes, but Prowl wasn't letting him. He growled and tried to shake him off.  
"You don't even know where the controls are!" Prowl shouted. "Or what that thing is!"  
Jazz whirled around, staring Prowl down. "You want to just let the Decepticons have it then?" he shouted. "Is that it? Just fragging give up?"  
"I'm not willing to risk you!" Prowl shouted, pressing himself right back against Jazz.  
"You are such a fragger!" Jazz shoved at Prowl, trying to break free. "I can do this!"  
"Jazz, no!" Prowl grabbed his arms, trying to pull him back, but a different rumbling emerged from the ground, a new type of rattle and shake. Deep within the bunker, the sound of a roaring engine started up, mixed with the hiss of steam and a high-pitched electronic wail. Everything shook, trembling, and Prowl nearly lost his footing. He clung to Jazz, holding onto him tight.  
Jazz's arms grabbed at Prowl's shoulders to steady himself. "They're launching!" he shouted at Prowl's faceplates. This time, he couldn't hear his own voice.  
"We have to get out of here!" Prowl dragged Jazz away, running down the hillisde as fast as they both could, tripping and steadying each other as the ground shook more and more. The trembles were increasing, the ground was quaking, and finally, they couldn't keep their footing. Jazz tumbled to the ground, grunting and crying out, and Prowl followed. They dragged themselves hand over hand, their plating vibrating, behind the picnic table they had used for cover as they'd traded pot shots with the Constructicons. The Constructicons had disappeared into the bunker and were, Prowl supposed, operating the emerging rocket.  
The rocket was launching, crawling from the ground and its hidden bunker in dramatic fashion. Long and cylindrical, the rocket was tapered at one end and flared at the other, with delta wings stretched over half its length. Enormous engines powered it upward, arranged in an eerily familiar array. The body was painted black from bow to stern, deep and impenetrable. Beneath the rocket and within the bunker, flames poured from the rocket's engines, incinerating everything in its launch path.  
"We're too close!" Prowl shouted into Jazz's audial. He pulled Jazz against him and wrapped his arms around his body, curling as tight as he could. He pushed Jazz down and covered him, using his own body as a shield. Jazz was swearing, cursing and spitting profanities, but Prowl squeezed down hard, holding him tight.  
All at once the rocket cleared the launch hangar and a burst of flame spread over the hillside and down into the park. The roaring jet blast snaked over the grass, engulfing everything in a flaming wind. Prowl could feel the blast rushing toward them through his quivering doorwings. He offlined his optics and squeezed Jazz as tight as he could. "Jazz, I love you," he whispered.  
The blast swept over them in a cascading, burning rush.  
Prowl could feel his doorwings searing, could feel the lines and sensors scratch and burn deep within, screaming against the flame. His paint peeled, instantly melted and stripped from his frame. He bellowed, grunting as he curled himself over Jazz even more, trying to do what he could. He could hear Jazz shouting, too, could feel the heat snake around them both. _Slaggit, I tried!_ Prowl thought, his processor screaming. _I slagging tried!_ He gasped, and too-hot air seared his inner lines.  
All at once, it was done, and the flames whisked over their bodies and disappeared, burning up the fuel lingering in the air from the jet blast.  
Prowl lay panting, toasted and barbequed, and he didn't let go of Jazz for a long, long time.

***

Smokescreen watched Ratchet furiously working at Sideswipe's internals, half listening to the ranting the medic was spouting off. Skyfire had lifted off immediately once Sideswipe was on board, leaving the rest of the mechs behind, and Smokescreen had come along to help. He'd mostly stayed out of the way since. Ratchet had torn into Sideswipe and started tearing out parts and pieces and lines faster than Smokescreen had ever seen.  
He'd never, ever seen Ratchet as furious as he was when Smokescreen arrived at the Autobot controlled entrance to the JSC. The Decepticons were on the run by the time he arrived, thanks to their successful launch and theft of the concealed rocket. Prime was ordering a pursuit chase, and the Aerialbots took off at once, streaking after the Seekers providing cover for the rocket launch.  
" _What the frag is he doing here?_ " Ratchet had bellowed, zeroing in on the greying form of Sideswipe, leaking and bleeding in Smokescreen's arms. " _He's fragging off battle duty!"_  
_"He's hurt, Ratchet,"_ Smokescreen had panted. He stared at the raging medic, not used to the darkness in his optics. " _He needs to get back to the Ark_."  
They'd flown for almost an hour, and Ratchet hadn't let up for a moment. The deck within Skyfire's hold was stained purple with energon. Smokescreen didn't know what to do except watch and hover, and try to look like he wasn't watching, and try not to get sick at the way Sideswipe kept turning grey.  
Finally, they were landing at the Ark, coming in for an emergency touchdown outside of the front of their ship. Skyfire had comm'd ahead and requested emergency medical aid. Smokescreen glanced outside and saw Wheeljack waiting next to a gurney. He frowned. There was something in his arms…  
Ratchet had already bustled Sideswipe into his arms and was racing down Skyfire's still-descending ramp. Smokescreen raced after him, his optics wide as he stared at Wheeljack. Ratchet was shouting, yelling a mile at minute at Wheeljack, shouting vitals and readings and broken and busted parts as he lay Sideswipe out on the gurney Wheeljack had wheeled out.  
"Help me, slaggit!" Ratchet shouted at Wheeljack. His optics flashed to Wheeljack.  
He froze.  
Helplessly, Wheeljack stared back. He was trying to shuffle Prowler in one arm and take Sideswipe's readings with his other, waving his scanner over Sideswipe. Prowler's optics were wide as he took in the commotion, and his tiny helm twisted, gazing down at Sideswipe's grey body. He went suddenly still in Wheeljack's arms.  
"What the frag…" Ratchet breathed. His voice was deadly, carrying every disbelief, every hurt and wounded thought, and every bitter resentment he'd carried for the past three months.  
"Sides asked me to take him," Wheeljack confessed quickly. His optics were traveling over Sideswipe's body. "He was determined to go after Sunny. I couldn't stop him." He shifted Prowler, trying to get the sparkling to look away from his wounded parent.  
"Sideswipe is going to die!" Ratchet hollered. Spit flew from his lipplates as he shouted, and rage shook his body. His optics were flaring, white bright and full of pain. "He's going to fragging die!" he shouted again.  
Wheeljack's audial fins flashed, but he said nothing.  
"I hope you're fragging happy," Ratchet growled. He grabbed the gurney and ran ahead, leaving Wheeljack behind.  
Smokescreen came up behind Wheeljack and reached for the sparkling. "I've got him," he grunted, taking the stock-still sparkling into his arms. "Go. Sideswipe needs you."  
Wheeljack didn't need to be told twice. He took off, racing after Ratchet at full speed. He caught him at the turn in the corridor, and Smokescreen saw the murderous glare Ratchet threw Wheeljack.  
Smokescreen sighed and looked down at Prowler. The sparkling's optics were huge, staring into nothing, and he mouthed over his wrist line obsessively. Small trembles had settled over his tiny frame. Smokescreen offlined his optics and tucked the sparkling close to his chest. He grimaced and shifted Prowler to the side. He was still covered in Sideswipe's energon.  
Slowly, he trudged into the Ark, heading for the medbay. There wasn't anything to do except wait for the rest of the Autobots to get back. His slow, heavy footfalls echoed against the Ark's floor. _Please let Sideswipe be alright_ , he thought. He pressed a quick kiss to Prowler's helm. _Please let him be alright._

***

"Sir, the Decepticons have crossed into Mexican airspace." Silverbolt broke over the comm channel back to Prime, frustration in his voice. "The Mexican Air Force is refusing us permission to pursue."  
"Pull back," Prime answered, sighing. His optics took in the surroundings at Johnson Space Center. Morning had come, dawn spilling over the horizon, and with it what seemed like the entirety of the US Army. Jets circled overhead, helicopters kept an aerial perimeter, and soldiers had fanned out in every direction. A giant tarp covered the empty launch tube where the stolen rocket had once been, but the evidence of a launch was easily apparent. Half of the NASA front field was burnt to a crisp.  
Prime's comm kept pinging with incoming calls and communiques from the White House, the Pentagon, and the Defense Department. He ignored every one of them.  
The Autobots had all pulled back and were resting between the two shuttles. Perceptor had managed to fly Prowl's crashed shuttle from its topple beneath the highway to a more manageable landing next to his own, near the front entrance to the JSC. First Aid moved between the mechs, patching wounds and scrapes.  
Prime's optics lingered on Jazz and Prowl. They were burned, parts seared black, Prowl more so than Jazz. Both their legs were burned black, and all of Prowl's backside and doorwings. His doorwings wouldn't even move, and they hung stiff and immobile on their hinges. He only knew the agony that Prowl was in because of all the years of their friendship. He hadn't seen that set to Prowl's faceplates in a long, long time.  
Nearby, Jazz was nursing his burnt arm and right side, and was gulping down a cube of energon. He was leaning forward, optics and visor offline, exhaustion wreaked through his body. Mirage hovered nearby, glaring daggers at Jazz and occasionally glancing at Prowl with something that almost looked like sympathy. Prime frowned.  
Sunstreaker sat alone, crouching down and in the shadows, and glared at anyone who came near. He wouldn't even let First Aid heal the laser shot in his leg. His faceplates were set firm, jaw clenching and unclenching, and his hands had balled into fists. He was vibrating, trembling, and forcing himself to remain still. He'd tear the place apart, if he wasn't absolutely, perfectly still.  
"Everyone into the shuttles," Prime finally said, his voice almost a growl. The humans had set up an aerial perimeter and refused them access to leave, but Prime was through with all of the double crossing. "We're getting out of here." _Let them shoot us out of the sky._

***

The flight home was blessedly uneventful. Fighter jets escorted the Autobots back to their base, but never fired on their shuttles. Prime refused to speak to any of the military personnel who comm'd. He comm'd ahead to the Ark and requested that Skyfire head out and do some high-level overflights of Mexico, try to see what the Decepticons were up to. Skyfire was exhausted, but he agreed and headed out immediately. They passed him on their way back.  
Finally, they were landing in the hangar bay. Sunstreaker bullied his way to the front of the loading ramp and tore from the shuttle as soon as he could squeeze out, leaping from within and tumbling to the decking. He stumbled to his feet and limped as fast as he could, heading for the medbay. The rest of the Autobots shared nervous glances. What had happened with Sideswipe had spread like wildfire, as had Ratchet's murderous wrath at seeing Sideswipe on the battlefield at all. The mechs had given Sunstreaker a wide, wide berth after the battle.  
"Everyone who needs repairs to the medbay," Prime ordered. His optics pinned back Prowl and Jazz, each hanging to the shadows and ignoring the other. "Especially you two," he growled.  
Prowl and Jazz shared a quick, dark look and trudged off the shuttle, limping toward the medbay. Prowl moved stiffly, trying not to move at all, and fell behind Jazz as Jazz limped ahead.

  
***

When the rest of the mechs finally arrived at the medbay, most everyone wished they hadn't.  
Sunstreaker had raced there first, limping with all the speed and energy he could muster. He barreled inside, hollering for Sideswipe at the top of his lungs.  
Unfortunately, Smokescreen had dozed offline in one of the waiting chairs near Ratchet's office, Prowler wrapped in a medbay blanket and resting on his chestplates, also offline. There was no sign of Sideswipe, Ratchet, or Wheeljack, but Sunstreaker's optics flared as they fixed on Smokescreen holding his sparkling. His spark lurched, spinning into a suddenly-dark and dangerous place.  
He snarled and rushed Smokescreen, who had jumped from his recharge at Sunstreaker's first bellow. Smokescreen's optics were huge, and he gasped as the yellow twin bodily threw him against the bulkhead outside Ratchet's office. "Sunny!" Smokescreen gasped.  
Sunstreaker reached for his sparkling, plucking the swaddled and onlining sparkling from Smokescreen's shocked grip. "Give me my sparkling," Sunstreaker growled through gritted denta. He tucked Prowler against his chestplates as his optics traveled up and down Smokescreen's body. Smokescreen's hands flattened against the bulkhead, gripping the plating. He stared up at Sunstreaker, his optics wide but chin held high, his mouth set in a firm line.  
"I'll kill you where you stand if you touch my family again," Sunstreaker spat. His voice was low and dark, more dangerous than Smokescreen had ever heard it. He could hear something else too, deep within Sunstreaker's words. Fear.  
"I was only trying to help, Sunstreaker," Smokescreen said, hoping his words came out strong. They came out stronger.  
Sunstreaker's optics flared and he pressed his free forearm against Smokescreen's throat. "Like you 'helped' my brother?" he hissed. His body was trembling, his rage seeking a perfect outlet. He'd wanted to tear Smokescreen into pieces for months. Now was as good a time as ever.  
Prowler stirred in Sunstreaker's arms, shifting in the swaddled blanket.  
Smokescreen's hands flew to Sunstreaker's arm, crushing his throat. "No, slaggit!" Smokescreen shouted, gasping. "I didn't know about you two back then! I'm sorry!" He pushed on Sunstreaker's arm as he wheezed, gasping. His optics flared. "I'm sorry, Sunny!"  
The medbay doors slid open and Bluestreak stumbled in, leading a parade of injured mechs from the battle. His optics swept over Sunstreaker, leaning hard against Smokescreen's throat, and Smokescreen struggling to push him off.  
Bluestreak had his rifle out and charged to fire in an instant. "What the frag?" he shouted, pointing his rifle at Sunstreaker. "Get away from him!" Bluestreak bellowed.  
After a long moment, Sunstreaker backed off. "Stay the frag away," Sunstreaker growled.  
Smokescreen pressed forward, reaching for Sunstreaker's arm as he turned. "You don't have to do this, Sunny," Smokescreen said as he rubbed at his throat. "You have nothing to fear."  
Sunstreaker whirled around. Bluestreak hummed warningly, stepping closer as he sighted Sunstreaker's helm in his rifle. "I'm not fragging afraid!" Sunstreaker bellowed. His shout echoed throughout the medbay, ringing into the metal. "I'm fragging better than you!"  
"He loves you!" Smokescreen shouted back, pushing himself well within Sunstreaker's personal space. His chest plates bumped against Sunstreaker's. "He loves you so fragging much and you can't even see it!" he spat. "You are throwing away the best thing in your life, Sunstreaker!" Smokescreen glared at the yellow twin, watching the tumble of emotions deep within.  
Prowler shifted in Sunstreaker's arms, whimpering. Sunstreaker swallowed, one hand coming to rest on his swaddled body. He didn't move his optics from Smokescreen's gaze. He kept searching, searching within Smokescreen as Smokescreen searched within Sunstreaker. Smokescreen saw Sunstreaker's spark written deep within in his optics, suddenly. Pain, rage, and fury were all there, flowing across the surface. Betrayal. Hatred. Fear. Poignant, deep fear. Fear of being alone. Fear of being the reason for being alone. Fear of being unloved. It was every one of Sideswipe's fears writ large, magnified with the power of Sunstreaker's spark.  
_Primus, they really are meant for each other,_ Smokescreen thought, exhaustion creeping in around his processor. "He loves you," Smokescreen whispered. "He told me to tell you that you are the only one he's ever loved." It had been a whisper while they ran, and it had been the last thing Sideswipe had said.  
Something finally snapped within Sunstreaker. Maybe it was the words, or the fact that it was Smokescreen who had finally said what Sideswipe had always tried to tell Sunstreaker, but suddenly, the fire in Sunstreaker's optics exploded and died, shorting out in an icy, terrible fear that eclipsed everything else. Sunstreaker's lips thinned, trying to control the sudden shaking tearing through his body. Finally, his knees buckled and he collapsed, sinking down under the weight of his one, true fear suddenly all too close to becoming real. Smokescreen sank down with him, both hands coming up to rest on Sunstreaker's shoulders.  
"Is he…" Sunstreaker couldn't say the rest. He stared into Smokescreen's optics as his lips moved soundlessly.  
"I don't know." Smokescreen shook his helm. "They've been in surgery a long time." His words were soft whispers, and he didn't dare say what Ratchet had shouted at Wheeljack outside the Ark.  
Sunstreaker gasped, a long, throaty inhale and pitched forward, curling his body around Prowler's. Silent, trembling sobs took over him, and long whines of low static escaped from his vocalizer.  
Smokescreen stared, openmouthed. His optics flashed to Bluestreak, who had finally lowered his pulse rifle. They had never, ever seen Sunstreaker cry. Not ever. Not once.  
Slowly, Smokescreen leaned forward and let his arms encircle Sunstreaker's shoulders. He pulled Sunstreaker forward until the yellow twin's helm was pressed against his shoulder, and he let his hands stroke up and down Sunstreaker's scratched and burned backplating. One of Sunstreaker's yellow hands finally slipped out and grabbed Smokescreen's arm, more a pained grasp than a hug.  
Silence filled the medbay as the mechs watched.  
Finally, Prowl pushed his way through the crowd of mechs clogging the medbay doorframe. "What's going on?" His voice died as his optics landed on Sunstreaker and Smokescreen, clinging to each other and rocking back and forth.

***

Prime stared at his two senior officers.  
Prowl was standing back, stiff and ramrod straight. His doorwings had been completely removed, but the rest of his body was still covered in burns. Half his face was blackened with soot and paint had peeled from his arms and legs. Removing his doorwings had taken care of most of the physical pain, and First Aid's painkillers had mostly dulled the rest. Still, the pain in his spark eclipsed everything else, and he could barely move because of the crushing weight of his spark's agony.  
Jazz was slumped in one of Prime's office chairs, his helm in his hands as he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. A cube sat on the decking before him, and he was breathing hard, harder than Prime understood.  
"What's going on?" he asked without preamble.  
Silence. Prowl looked away, chewing on his lip. Jazz exhaled, long and slow.  
"I won't ask again." Prime's hands folded in front of him on his desk. He looked from Prowl to Jazz.  
Prowl cracked first. "Prime…" he swallowed, and his optics slid to stare at Jazz. Jazz had gone suddenly stiff, every servo freezing. "Jazz and I are sparked," Prowl finished with a whisper.  
Prime's optic ridges shot high. He stared at Prowl for a long moment, watching the tumble of emotions cascade over his face. Regret, agony, longing, sadness, and finally, terrible hope streaked out toward Jazz.  
"I see." Prime turned his attentions to Jazz. "Jazz?"  
Jazz heaved another long sigh, loud and heavy. "Yeah, Prime?" He didn't look up.  
"I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that you're carrying?" He gestured to the cube in Jazz's hand. It was a deep, dark magenta, and the fifth Prime had seen Jazz inhale.  
Jazz nodded stiffly, not looking at Prime. "We didn't plan this," Jazz grunted.  
Prime nodded slowly. He stood from his desk and moved around it, leaning against the front side before crossing his arms over his chestplates. He heaved another heavy sigh as he fixed both his officers with strong glares.  
Neither would look back at him.  
"I have always maintained that my officers' personal lives are none of my business," Prime began. "I have trusted the officers under my command to conduct themselves professionally, both on and off duty." His optics lingered on Jazz, and he caught Prowl's flinch out of the corner of his optic. "I watched your guys' courtship take off. I was happy for you both." He paused, shifting his gaze away from his officers to stare at the far bulkhead.  
"What in the slag happened that has turned you both into raving idiots?" he growled. His jaw cables clenched tight, his denta grinding together. "I expect both of you to conduct yourself appropriately, no matter what is going on. Jazz, you've placed yourself and your team in grave danger, and have made a target for yourself. Being sparked is in itself not a reason to question your abilities," Prime said, watching the flash deep in Jazz's visor. "But knowingly continuing on a dangerous mission behind enemy lines, when your condition is one of the enemies most sought after targets, is." He fixed a stern glare against Jazz's furious gaze.  
"Prowl," Prime said, turning to his second in command. "I expect you to conduct yourself with more concern for the Autobots and the soldiers under your command. In the last eight hours, you've crashed a shuttle, abandoned your command post, left your assigned battle area, and gotten yourself half burned to a crisp." His optics flared as he took in Prowl's black-burnt face, flinching at Prime's words. "And that's only the past eight hours. Your objectivity is gone."  
Silence filled Prime's office. He watched Jazz's hands clench down around the cube, nearly shattering the surface. "If you two want to have a sparkling, that's fine. But you had better figure out a way to do it without jeopardizing yourselves or the entire Autobot family." His voice finally rose, roaring over the silent office. "You both are too important for this slag," he sighed. His hand rose, rubbing over his forehelm.  
Jazz spoke first. "We're not having a sparkling, Prime." He said quickly. "It was a mistake. We're terminating it."  
Prime's optics caught the crack in Prowl's expression, and the complete devastation that stole over his faceplates. Prowl looked down, no longer able to keep up the façade of everything being alright. Prime watched the trembles settle over his shoulders.  
"You both had better discuss that long and hard," Prime said slowly, sighing. He stared at Jazz, holding his furious gaze. "I can't have you both hating each other for the rest of your lives."  
Finally, Jazz's expression cracked, and he flinched as he looked away.  
Prime stared at both of his officers. Each one looked destroyed, lost. Jazz covered his pain in rage. Prowl covered his in silence. Prime sighed again. He stood and moved back around his desk, sitting in his chair slowly.  
"We're going after the Decepticons," he said, shifting topics. "They're modifying the rocket they stole with their own technology. From what Skyfire has been able to scan from high orbit and what Perceptor has been able to piece together, that rocket is a prototype built from human technology and an integration of our stolen engine tech designs."  
"They're trying to escape Earth." Jazz took a slow swallow from his cube and grimaced.  
"We think so. It looks like they'll want to launch soon. We don't have enough time or the right relationships to fight them in Mexico, so…" He paused, pursing his lips. "We're fighting them in orbit. Wheeljack's shuttles are space-worthy, as is Skyfire. We're going to meet them in space and try to take them down."  
Jazz frowned, staring back at Prime. "Why can't we just shoot them when they launch? Bam, problem solved." He shrugged.  
"If our engine tech explodes intra-atmosphere, it could devastate the planet," Prowl said softly. His optics slid sideways, meeting Jazz's for a brief moment. He swallowed as their gazes met. "It could poison the atmosphere, or burn a hole in the atmospheric layers, or wreak havoc with the Van Allen belts."  
"So, no blowing them up." Jazz folded his arms and slumped back in his chair.  
"No blowing them up," Prime repeated. He turned to Prowl. "Prowl, we have tens of hours worth of work to do on the shuttles and only about four hours to do it in. Get with Perceptor and start working on modifications to increase their battle readiness and fix the damages from this morning." Prowl nodded stiffly, not meeting Prime's gaze.  
"I'll get with Mirage and work on some boarding maneuvers-" Jazz began.  
"No." Prime cut Jazz off. His voice carried no room for argument.  
Jazz's optics darted around Prime's office, flicking between Prime, Prowl, and the empty office space. "Sir," Jazz began.  
"Jazz, you're staying here." Again, Prime's tone held no room for discussion.  
Jazz tried anyway. "But, Prime!" he shouted, jumping to his feet. "You need me out there!"  
"No, I need you here." Prime's optics flared as he stared Jazz down. "I need you here manning the operations controls and relaying a global satellite imagery feed to our teams on the shuttles."  
"Prime!" Jazz shouted again. His arms stretched wide, incredulous.  
"You're staying here, Jazz!" Prime's voice finally rose, cutting over Jazz's. "I need you to run the battle. From the Ark."  
A long beat of silence passed. Jazz's expression twisted, curling with anger and frustration. "Fine," he spat. "Yes, sir."  
Prime nodded, his optics shifting between Jazz and Prowl. "Dismissed," he said, his voice growling low in his throat. "We have a lot of work to do."


	10. Chapter 10

"I'm so sorry." Wheeljack shifted, his audial fins barely lighting up. "We tried everything we could…" His optics finally rose, lingering on the back of Sunstreaker's still helm. "The damage was… It was really bad…" He winced, dropping his gaze down to the deck.  
Sunstreaker sat perfectly still, not moving a servo, barely breathing at all. One hand stretched out, reaching for Sideswipe's motionless fingers on the edge of the berth.  
His hand was shaking, slow trembles turning to violent shudders as he finally grasped Sideswipe. He laced their fingers together and dragged Sideswipe's hand from the berth, pressing his cold plating to his lips. Sunstreaker's breath ghosted over his brother's plating in panicked, fractured pants, desperately trying to bring warmth to Sideswipe's frame.  
"Sideswipe…" Sunstreaker mouthed against his brothers fingers. He pressed Sideswipe's hand against his cheek, leaning into his weightless palm. Turning, he breathed a wet, open-mouthed kiss against his still plating. "Sideswipe…."  
Sunstreaker's whole body was shaking, trembling as he leaned out of the chair he had collapsed in next to Sideswipe's berth and stretched over his brother's motionless frame. One hand traced up Sideswipe's body, trembling and vibrating over the burns in his plating, then skipping over the hole cut into his chestplates. One golden finger skated along the ragged slice Ratchet had cut through his brother's chestplates in his desperate attempts to get to his brother's spark and his neural lines.  
Finally, his hand stretched all the way up to Sideswipe's helm, and his fingers nearly trembled off of his brother's plating as they traced the cold lines of Sideswipe's lips and then drifted over the breathing tube taped to the side of his mouth and curling across his cheek. Warm air flowed through the ventilator, snaking down the tubing as it stretched to Sideswipe's engine, firing his body.  
Sunstreaker leaned his cheek against Sideswipe's motionless hand again, pressing hard against his plating, as if he could transfer his warmth to his brother. Sideswipe was cold, so cold, colder than he'd ever been in his entire life. "Sideswipe…" he mouthed again. Static clung to his words. He didn't know what else to say.  
Sunstreaker traced the ventilation tube across Sideswipe's cheek. His fingers hesitated before they dipped down, one finger barely ghosting over his brother's neck. The plating had been removed entirely, and the bare recesses of his brother's neck column were open and visible. Lines and cables crisscrossed, snaking upward, and in between the circuitry, Sideswipe's bundled neural lines, snaking toward his processor, were exposed. One bundle of neural lines was glowing, shimmering as they conducted the energies and impulses Sideswipe needed to stay alive.  
The other bundle controlling his motor functions was dark and dead.  
"Sideswipe…" One gold finger stretched into Sideswipe's neck, trembling as he slowly reached for Sideswipe's destroyed neural lines.  
A single sob finally tore out of Sunstreaker's throat, wild and primal. He pressed Sideswipe's hand against his cheek as he lowered his helm, resting his forehelm on Sideswipe's abdomen. Another wail, caught between static and a furious, primal roar exploded from him.

***

Behind Sunstreaker, Wheeljack winced again, folding in on himself as he offlined his optics. He couldn't watch. He just couldn't.  
Turning, Wheeljack padded back to Ratchet's office. His feet were heavy, barely shuffling as he moved, and he could hear the static-filled gasps and keening moans Sunstreaker buried against his brother's plating. Each sound was a terrible stab against his spark.  
Wheeljack paused in the door to Ratchet's office. He slumped sideways, leaning against the doorframe. His hands fidgeted together, fingers pressing against one another with nervous tension. Inside, Ratchet slumped in one of the visitor chairs in front of his desk, trying to comfort Prowler. Exhaustion clung to his frame, spark-deep.  
Prowler shifted in Ratchet's arms, twisting as he tried to pull away. He wasn't in the mood to be held by the medic, and one small arm pressed against Ratchet's chestplates as he tried to push back. Ratchet didn't let go. He sighed as he tried to turn Prowler to his other side, and a whining cry fell from Prowler as he was forcibly moved. His arms and legs went stiff as he stretched, trying for freedom.  
"I can take 'im," Wheeljack said softly. His audial fins barely lit up. Still, Prowler turned to Wheeljack instantly, and one hand reached for him, stretching as his little optics pleaded for an escape.  
Ratchet didn't make a sound as Wheeljack crossed the office and took Prowler from his arms. Ratchet's optics turned cold, hardening as he watched Wheeljack's arms curl around Prowler and watched the small sparkling tuck himself against Wheeljack's neck and chestplates. Prowler buried his face in Wheeljack's neck as his hands balled into fists, barely stretching to his plating. Prowler whined again but rubbed his faceplates against Wheeljack and sighed, going limp in his arms. Wheeljack shifted, rocking across his feet as he rubbed his cheek over Prowler's helm. Soft, meaningless sounds drifted from his vocalizer.  
Ratchet stared, his gaze slowly turning wrathful. Wheeljack wouldn't look at him.  
"How dare you comfort Prowler," Ratchet finally growled. His words were slow, forcibly pulled from his raging vocalizer. "How dare you…"  
Wheeljack's optics blazed as he whirled, staring at Ratchet. He swallowed, but said nothing.  
"How dare you show your faceplates to him!" Ratchet pushed himself to his feet, glowering at Wheeljack. "How dare you show your faceplates to any of them!" Ratchet finally shouted.  
"Ratchet, I-" Wheeljack tried to speak, but Ratchet cut him off.  
"You are the reason Sideswipe is lying there!" Ratchet bellowed. His optics went white, pure rage taking hold. "You are the reason Sideswipe is half dead!"  
Wheeljack froze, staring back at Ratchet. He was suddenly still, and then suddenly not, folding in on himself as he curled around Prowler's small body. Prowler whimpered and kicked out, one tiny foot slamming into Wheeljack's chestplates. Wheeljack's optics darkened, fading offline, and his breath exploded out of him, punched out of his being with Ratchet's words.  
"Ratchet," he tried to say, choking on his words. "I… I-"  
"Get out," Ratchet hissed. He cut Wheeljack off, refusing to listen.  
Swallowing, Wheeljack nodded, his helm jerking up and down unsteadily. He pressed his forehelm against Prowler's helm and sighed, a wavering, unsteady breath of static, and then passed the sparkling back to Ratchet.  
Ratchet took Prowler without touching Wheeljack. Wheeljack stumbled out of Ratchet's office without looking back.

***

Ratchet stood in the center of his office, quietly shaking with all of his rage, all of the ragged rushes of his surging emotions. He tried to rock Prowler, tried to get him to settle into his arms as effortlessly as Prowler had settled against Wheeljack, but Prowler was fussing again, whining and irritable and not wanting to be held by the medic. He grunted, shifting, and then Prowler was melting down. Prowler's faceplates scrunched up as he heaved, screaming and wailing and balling his fists into punches of pain and sadness.  
Ratchet tried to stroke Prowler's backplates as he stood alone in his office, listening to both Sunstreaker and Prowler's howls and screams echo throughout the medbay.

***

There was a special pain to being burned, Prowl thought as he lay on his back and tore into the Teletraan terminal in the astrometrics lab. His backplates ached, a strong, low pain that seared into his joints and struts. He couldn't feel long stretches of his leg plating, and half his face felt cast in stone. Stabs of sharp pain shocked him occasionally, appearing out of nowhere and driving into him ruthlessly. He gasped whenever it happened, freezing as his joints locked up and he tried to push through the momentary stab of agony.  
Prowl's fingers curled around the spanner as he twisted, trying to loosen the components above his helm. He hissed, cursing, and finally the cover plate popped aside. From a distance, he registered the slide of the door opening. Footsteps crossed the lab.  
"We have to talk, Prowl."  
Prowl froze again, but this time it didn't have anything to do with physical pain. His spark plunged to the depths of his tanks, going suddenly icy cold. His fingers went limp, and he almost dropped the spanner flat on his helm. Why now? Primus, why now? He had wanted to hear those words for the past two months, but now? He could barely hold himself together as it was. Prime's scalding words seared themselves into Prowl's processor, and it was all he could do to focus on the mission at hand, to ready themselves for the battle. _I'm not ready for this!_  
Prowl slowly slid out from beneath the astrometrics terminal on the wheeled dolly he was lying on. His optics caught on Jazz, standing apart and staring off into the void of the room. Jazz's jaw was clenched tight.  
Despite himself, Prowl's optics lingered on Jazz. He was burned and scorched in places Prowl hadn't been able to fully shield with his own body. Prowl swallowed, feeling guilty, and the burns on his faceplates tugged, pulling smartly against his cracked-black and scorched plating. Despite the burns on Jazz's legs and hip, he still looked good. Very good. Prowl's spark gave a tiny lurch. It had been so long since he'd seen Jazz, actually seen him. Primus, he loved Jazz so much, even with everything that had happened.  
"Hey Jazz," Prowl finally said. His voice was hoarse and choked, and too-dry. His throat had been burnt due to the fire, and the lubricants in his gears were damaged. He hadn't bothered with fixing them.  
"We have to end this, Prowl," Jazz said without preamble. He still wouldn't look at Prowl. One hand was resting on the terminal near him, idly playing over the controls. "This is ridiculous."  
Prowl's optics offlined as he laid his helm back. A long exhale dragged out of his vents. _I'm not ready for this!_ "Jazz," he choked out.  
"No, Prowl!" Jazz snapped. "Look at what's happened! You heard Optimus! This slag has to stop!"  
"I know…" Prowl whispered. He kept his optics offline. One hand rose, pressing against his forehelm. Idly, he realized he was shaking. "I'm sorry." Static clung to his words. "I'm so sorry, Jazz."  
"Sorry doesn't fix things, Prowl," Jazz growled. His turned away, pacing across the lab. He was trapped, trapped by everything – the Decepticons, Optimus, their sparkling, Prowl. Everything penned him in, forced him back into corners. Rage curled within, lashing out. "Sorry doesn't fix what's happened!"  
Prowl flinched at the raw edge to Jazz's words. "I only ever wanted to do the right thing, Jazz…" His optics finally onlined, but he couldn't look at Jazz. He stared up, staring at the dingy orange ceiling of the under-used astrometrics lab. Stalactites pushed through the hull. He wished one would break off and fall into him. "I only ever wanted the best for us."  
Fury slammed into Jazz at full force. "Well don't worry," he spat. "We are doing the right thing. Right fragging now." He stopped and turned to Prowl, glaring down at him. Prowl refused to meet his gaze. "It's over, Prowl." Jazz's hands curled into fists. They hid his hands' shaking. "Everything. Us. This sparkling. It's all over. I'm terminating it as soon as this mission is complete."  
Silence stretched through the astrometrics lab, growing thick. Prowl stared up at the stalactites, his optics shifting out of focus as they faded to white. "I know," he finally breathed, choking on his words and the raw agony wreaking his spark. "I know."  
Jazz had expected more of a fight. He stared at Prowl's motionless figure, watching him stare up at the ceiling. White light poured from his optics, blindingly bright in the dim lab. "As long as that's clear," he grunted. He shifted, then turned away. "We're through, Prowl. We're done."  
Jazz was walking away, striding away and out the door when Prowl's voice finally broke through the haze of rage that had solidified around his processor. He paused, listening to Prowl's soft, pain-filled whisper.  
"You would have been an amazing parent, Jazz."  
He didn't respond. Jazz slammed his hand against the palm pad. He fled into the corridor as the door slid open, escaping the darkness of the astrometrics lab and of Prowl's anguish.  
He'd never asked for any of this.

***

Bluestreak was a clever devil when he didn't want to be found.  
The younger doorwinger had grown in his time with the Autobots, and even more so since their crash on Earth. The naive, talkative young-mech had changed into a talkative, passionate, emotion-fueled mech, full of battle-weary experience and a longer view on life.  
Sometimes, Smokescreen missed the younger version of Bluestreak.  
There were times in years before that Bluestreak would pull away, disappear from the others and hide in the dark places and hidey-holes he'd managed to find. Pits in the ship, dark corners in caves carved out from the crash. Places no one ever went.  
Smokescreen had searched every hiding place he knew of looking for Bluestreak. The gunner had disappeared as Smokescreen had comforted Sunstreaker, holding the golden yellow twin as he'd sobbed, finally letting out the long, painful years of his choking emotions. Sunstreaker had gone quiet after, retreating inside himself and holding his sparkling close as he'd waited – and waited and waited – for news from Sideswipe's surgery. Smokescreen faded away as the hours grew, searching for Bluestreak in every nook and cranny he knew of.  
Nothing.  
Sighing, Smokescreen headed toward the last place he could imagine that Bluestreak had gone. The two of them had found a small slice in the side of the volcano, more a crevice than a cave, and it had been a place to escape to when life on board the Ark had gotten too crazy in the past eight months. It was higher up than most mechs ever climbed, and it had been their little secret. They never told a soul.  
It was a pain to get to, and Smokescreen was grousing by the time he'd finally clambered up the rocky, shale-slippery side of the volcano to the ledge their cave was set into. He pulled himself up with a curse and paused, his vents heaving as he bent over to catch his breath. Dirt and dust covered his frame.  
"You're getting old." Bluestreak's flat voice was both welcome and not.  
Smokescreen turned and glared at the gunner, sitting back and leaning against the rocky side of the volcano before the cave entrance. "I'm looking for you," Smokescreen spat back, teasing the younger mech.  
Bluestreak shrugged, his expression unchanged and emotionless. "Didn't have to."  
Smokescreen frowned and crossed over to Bluestreak's side. His hands rested on his hips as he stared down at the gunner, helm cocked. "What is with you, Blue?" Bluestreak didn't answer. He didn't even look at Smokescreen. Sighing, Smokescreen crouched down. One hand reached out and rested on Bluestreak's arm. "Blue… Seriously. What's going on? You haven't run away like this since you were young."  
Something flashed deep in Bluestreak's optics. He moved his arm away, pulling out of Smokescreen's touch. "I'm not a sparkling," he growled. "If I want to be alone, I can be. You don't have to come and babysit me."  
"I'm not!" Smokescreen sat back on his heels, staring at Bluestreak. "I'm worried about you."  
"You don't have to be." Bluestreak looked away, staring out into the sky.  
"This isn't you, Blue," Smokescreen began. "I'm your friend and I'm worried about you. Something is going on in that processor of yours, and I think it has something to do with the twins-"  
Bluestreak cut Smokescreen off. "Well, you know what, Smokes? Shows how much you think you know. I just want to be left alone, alright?" He stood quickly, glaring at Smokescreen as the doorwinger rose with him. "I think you and I probably need to be apart for a while, 'kay?"  
"What?" Smokescreen stared at Bluestreak, his optics wide as his mouth dropped open. "What the slag are you talking about?"  
"I need some time to myself," Bluestreak growled. "I've got a lot of slag going on and I'm not sure if I can be your friend right now." He looked away, glaring at nothing as his jaw cables clenched and unclenched.  
Smokescreen's jaw snapped shut as anger took over. "You just can't forgive, can you?" he hissed. "You just can't see anything good about the twins. Can't see how happy they are with each other."  
Bluestreak snorted, and his dark humor stole through his own anger. "Yeah, they look happy right now." He gestured to the Ark and the tragedy within.  
Smokescreen's doorwings flared wide, ticking upward. "You're being a real high-class fragger…"  
Bluestreak shoved past Smokescreen, heading for the ledge to climb down. "You don't know anything about me," he growled. "Leave me alone."  
Whirling, Smokescreen stared at Bluestreak. "I don't know anything about you?" He snorted. "You love horror movies 'cause they give you that adrenaline surge that you love and hate. You prefer cold energon to warm, even though that's slagging weird. You hate racing games and love shooters, but you'd rather stay in your berth and recharge instead of going down to the Rec room on Saturday mornings for the multi-player game." Smokescreen's optics narrowed. "You keep the TV on in your quarters when you're alone, 'cause you don't feel so alone that way. And you recharge with your lights on dim."  
Bluestreak's helm whipped around and he glared back at Smokescreen, his optics dark and furious. He started shuffling down the trail and his helm dipped down below the crevice's edge. "You just think you're so smart, don't you Smokes?" he grunted. "You can fragging fix everyone, can't you?"  
"Frag off, Bluestreak!" Smokescreen's shout echoed around the cavern. He kicked a rock, sending it sailing over the ledge and down onto the trail.  
"Frag you too!"

***

"This is a delicate situation…"  
Prime sighed. "You don't say." His hand rubbed over his forehlem. He glanced at the chronometer on his desktop. Less than an hour to launch.  
"We had no idea that this would happen!" The voice on the comm blustered, full of aggravated pride and irritation.  
"No, what you didn't know was that you would be caught." Prime's hand fell, slapping onto his desktop surface. The loud clang echoed over the comm channel.  
"This is experimental technology," the Director of the Strategic Sciences Division sputtered, trying to edge in over the comm line. "We had no idea-"  
"This is Autobot technology," Prime interrupted. "It is Autobot technology, Autobot engineering, and Autobot design specifications." He paused, and the silence on the comm line lingered. "You stole this information, gentleman."  
"Now, Prime, there's no need to be getting suspicious-"  
Prime cut the Defense Secretary off. "You stole this technology, Mr. Secretary. And you have been stealing it for years."  
A long, uncomfortable silence stretched over the comm line. Static hissed and beeped in the background, blending into the white noise.  
Finally, the Joint Chiefs of Staff spoke. "The President wants to know what your plan is, Prime."  
"Our plan?" Prime forced as much incredulity into his voice as possible. "What is your plan, gentleman? This problem is of your own design." His fingers rubbed over the bridge of his nose, weary.  
"We're calling you," the Defense Secretary said. There wasn't any trace of irony is his voice. "Our satellite imagery and high-altitude overflights show the Decepticons are modifying the rocket. We think they're preparing for a space launch, but we have to be prepared for the possibility that this could be a terrestrial attack."  
"And," the Strategic Sciences Director said quickly, speaking over the Defense Secretary. "We've developed several long-range ballistic missile defense response scenarios to a possible space-bound external threat development."  
Prime heaved a heavy sigh. "You cannot blast the rocket out of the sky," he said. He offlined his optics as his face twisted, exhausted frustration settling on his frame. "It is too dangerous."  
"Our scenarios show that-" The Strategic Sciences Director tried to speak quickly.  
"Your scenarios are wrong." Prime cut him off. "You have our technology, gentleman. You have our technology and you don't even know how to use it, or know what it can do to your world when it is misused." He paused. "And now, you've let the Decepticons acquire a rocket designed with Autobot space drive technology and capable of cargo transport out of the Earth atmosphere." Another long pause, full of heavy recrimination. "What do you think they are doing, gentleman?"  
Finally, the Joint Chief of Staff spoke again. "Prime, I'll ask this again: the President wants to know what your plan is."  
Prime glanced at the chronometer on his desk again. Forty-five minutes until launch. "Our plan, gentleman, is to clean up the mess that your long years of espionage and double-dealing have left us with. Our plan is to save this planet - again – from the Decepticons. Our plan is to get out there and risk our lives – again – for allies who go behind our backplates and lie to us." Primes voice had risen steadily until he was shouting, almost bellowing at the comm relay. His fingers clenched into fists. "This ship is more than just an outpost," he growled. "This is my family. This is the last of my species. And we've been extremely gracious and humble here, happy to be welcome on Earth." His fist fell to the desktop, heavy. "But this is the end of the line, gentleman. I will not allow my mechs, my family, to be put in harm's way." Sunstreaker's faceplates flashed in his mind, alongside Prowler's tender sparkling faceplates. Prime winced at the memories. Unbidden, his processor dragged up images of Prowl and Jazz, happy and in love. "This is the end of the line," he growled.  
Another long pause. Finally, the Defense Secretary spoke again. "What assistance can we give your mechs as you battle the Decepticons, Prime?"  
Prime's engine roared, rumbling in his chest. "I've had enough human assistance, Mr. Secretary. Why don't you stay out of this one?" Prime's optics counted down the time on his chronometer.  
"Prime-"  
"I have to go manage a launch. If you'll excuse me." Prime closed the channel roughly and stood, then strode out of his office without looking back.  
Mechs would be putting their lives on the line again, just like Sideswipe had, for an allied force that meant nothing, treated them like nothing. How many lives would be ruined, how many would be damaged, through the length of this war and through dubious, devious allies? Where was the end?  
Prime's hands curled into fists as he stalked through the Ark corridors.

***

The shuttles were ready to launch for battle again, and the crew was nervously waiting in the Rec room, waiting for the Decepticon's next move.  
Wheeljack knew he should be running final checks with Perceptor – again – on the shuttles, fine-tuning every calibration possible. He knew he should also be on the comms with Skyfire and Silverbolt as they hovered just out of range of the Decepticons and relayed back their movements and intel. He should be reviewing the supplies he'd stashed on board both shuttles, tools and parts and medical energon in case of an injury. Of course, if Wheeljack was honest with himself… damages from a space battle were likely to be permanent. Decompression and getting blown apart had ways of sticking around in the circuits.  
Sighing, Wheeljack shook his helm. He couldn't get the morose thoughts out of his helm or processor. He couldn't shake the darkness that clung to him. His helm thunked back, hitting the orange metal hard before he slumped down the bulkhead and collapsed in a strutless heap. His helm pitched forward, hanging low between his shoulders as his arms rested on his knees, hands hanging limp in front of him.  
Was he truly this useless? Was he truly this spineless? How much had he failed this past year? He'd let himself be overwhelmed by a sparkling. He'd pushed away Ratchet, the one mech he loved. He faltered and failed to be the support system that the twins had needed in Ratchet and Prowl's absence. He hadn't been able to heal Sideswipe when he was injured in the first Decepticon attack.  
He'd taken Prowler and let Sideswipe go after his brother.  
Wheeljack's helm slowly lifted. The medbay doors loomed across the corridor. He sighed again.  
Slowly, Wheeljack pushed himself to his feet. Three heavy steps took him across the corridor, and one hand slowly reached out to palm open the doors. They slid back with a soft sigh.  
Sunstreaker was still sitting by Sideswipe's medberth, silent and still. He was holding Prowler in his arms. The little sparkling was bundled tight in his blanket, a little dingy and worn through from daily use and love. He rested in Sunstreaker's arms, one fist curled up and pressed against his parent's plating. Sunstreaker's hand rubbed up and down his sparkling backplates, automatic. His gaze never wavered from his brother's still form.  
Sideswipe lay on the medberth, utterly, perfectly still, and only the beeps of the terminals and the soft wheeze of the ventilator made any noise at all. The medbay was dim, the lights turned down, and Sunstreaker's blazing, burning optics, still white-bright with pain, were streaking across his brother's body.  
Wheeljack swallowed hard. His spark leapt, lodging in his throat, choking his gears. All he wanted to do was flee, to turn and run. Instead, he forced himself forward, forced himself to slowly cross the medbay. Heavy footfalls took him to Sideswipe's side, and his hands rested nervously on the edge of the red twin's berth. His optics looked everywhere but at Sideswipe, drifting over the terminal readouts and the ventilator. His fingers plucked at a speck of dirt on the medberth.  
Finally he looked up, his gaze fixing to Sideswipe's cold, slack expression. Wheeljack's spark jolted again, seizing in his frame. Just hours ago, he and Sideswipe had been talking, right here in the medbay. The red twin had been warm and online, not cold and silent.  
Wheeljack's vents exhaled, slow and mournful. "I am so sorry, Sunstreaker," Wheeljack choked out. "I am so, so sorry."  
Silence. Sunstreaker didn't even move. His hand kept stroking up and down Prowler's backplates, slow and automatic.  
Swallowing, Wheeljack forced himself to continue. "This is all my fault… I am so sorry…"  
Sunstreaker finally moved, breaking his catatonic vigil over Sideswipe and shifting his gaze, fractionally, to Wheeljack. He frowned, staring at him, then shook his helm. "This has nothing to do with you," Sunstreaker finally grunted.  
"I took Prowler," Wheeljack whispered. "I took him and helped Sideswipe. He wouldn't have been in that battle if it weren't for me." He shook his helm, staring down at Sideswipe's broken body.  
Again, Sunstreaker shook his helm. "Sideswipe would have come anyway," he grunted. His words were slow, dark grunts that sounded like pain-filled admissions. "He wouldn't have left me alone." Sunstreaker's optics drifted back to Sideswipe's faceplates. "He'll never leave me."  
"But I took Prowler-"  
Sunstreaker's slow helm-shake stopped Wheeljack again. "He would have left Prowler in our quarters," he grunted. "It's good you took him." Sunstreaker's voice was distant, choked and pushed from a place he never spoke from. His optics were once more faded and staring at so much more than Sideswipe.  
"Sunny…" Wheeljack's guilt would not be assuaged.  
"It's not your fault." Sunstreaker cut Wheeljack off again, this time more gruffly than before. He shifted again, wanting to be alone.  
Wheeljack sighed and stared down at Sideswipe's slack, broken faceplates. His spark still burned, guilt searing through his systems. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

***

The Decepticons finally launched, blasting off in their converted rocket from the high Mexican desert. Seekers escorted the rocket, Astrotrain, and Blast Off in a wide delta convoy, forming a protective barrier against any fighters that tried to intercept them.  
The humans stayed back. Air Force and Army jets hovered over American air space, but the Decepticons headed up, straight for the skies and to space beyond.  
Skyfire called back to the Ark, relaying the launch and their vector as he and Silverbolt zoomed forward, matching the Decepticon Seekers and their flight vectors. They traded speed in the clouds, zipping and twining with the Seekers as they tried to shake the Decepticon jets from their escort duty of the rocket and the Decepticon shuttles. They continued to climb, and finally, the air thinned out, the clouds grew faint, and blue skies faded to black space.  
Skyfire peeled off with Silverbolt, turning and skimming the upper atmosphere as they retreated away from the Decepticon airlift. The Decepticons continued to climb, heading into the satellite orbits over the Earth and hiding amongst the twisting and chaotic satellite fields and orbital trails. Skyfire tried to track them as best he could, but he lost them in the conflicting signals and noise.  
Instead, the two pushed away, skimming the atmosphere and staying below the mass of satellites and their orbits. Silverbolt twisted, trying to take in everything around him. The barest brush of the atmosphere, wispy blue beneath his wings and the blackness of space above, dotted with stars. A tangled jungle of satellites and debris, circling and roaming above the Earth in a dizzying maze of movement. The satellite field stretched high, seemingly stretching all the way out into space. "This is incredible," Silverbolt whispered.  
"This is incredibly dangerous," Skyfire replied. "I don't see how we're supposed to fight the Decepticons in the orbital field."  
Silverbolt shifted back into position at Skyfire's wing. "When do the others get here?"  
Silverbolt checked the launch vector of the Ark's shuttles. "An hour." He gunned his engines, zipping ahead. "Let's stay low and keep orbiting. We need to track them as best we can."

***

Wheeljack forced himself to focus, listening to Perceptor as they crowded around the central operations console on board one of the Autobot's shuttles. The launch alert had blared through the entire Ark, shattering the stillness of the medbay, and Wheeljack had torn off, racing for the shuttles and the mission at hand. He still couldn't shake Sideswipe's motionless, vacant expression from his processor.  
"There are over 2,500 satellites in orbit over the Earth," Perceptor said, speaking quick and loud over the roar of the shuttle. "There are over 6,000 pieces of space debris. We need to avoid every one of them."  
Prowl, flying the shuttle, clenched his hands around the flight controls. "Jazz, do you have the feeds from the Army satellites yet?"  
Jazz's voice faded slightly across the comm. "We've just got the final uplink. I should have a 3D map rendering for you in about a minute."  
Perceptor nodded and activated the ops console. Jazz's rendering of the satellite field, from low Earth orbit to geo synchronous, started filling in, a wild maze of satellites and debris. "There's been an increase in geomagnetic storms recently. There is a lot of solar wind out there. This has charged the thermosphere and caused it to expand." Perceptor dragged his hand over the rapidly forming 3D map. His fingers highlighted a section of the low Earth orbit satellites and debris. "These satellites and this debris field are in danger of unpredictable changes to their orbital speed and plane due to the expansion of the thermosphere. The atmosphere is pulling them in." Perceptor turned to Prowl. "Be prepared for drag while you are in low Earth orbit."  
Prowl nodded again, gritting his denta. His half-blackened face pulled, pinching with pain.  
"If you know this, Perceptor, then it's a good bet the Decepticons do, too," Jazz said over the comm. "I bet they're going to be using this somehow."  
"A safe assumption," Prime suddenly said, joining the comm line from the other shuttle he was commanding. "That's why we have you running the battle, Jazz. We need optics in the sky."  
Jazz didn't respond for a long moment. "Got the satellite feeds up. I have a rendering of the orbital plane."  
Prowl's throat clenched. He forced himself to focus. "We're coming up on the exosphere," he called out. "Everyone hang on!"  
Prowl and Mirage, piloting the other shuttle, kept low beneath the orbital plane, skimming the surface of the atmosphere until they met up with Skyfire and Silverbolt. The rest of the Aerialbots followed on the contrails of the shuttles as they climbed for space, but they had stayed within the atmosphere at high altitude. Only Silverbolt had undergone the necessary space-flight adjustments to his alt mode to follow Skyfire and the shuttles into space.  
"The Decepticons have buried themselves in low Earth orbit, right in the middle of all of the satellites," Skyfire said, transmitting his and Silverbolt's scans to the shuttles. "They've powered down for now. The Seekers are surrounding them. I think they're doing last minute checks and configurations."  
"Or prepping for battle," Jazz interrupted.  
"They're in a defensible position," Skyfire continued. "And it's going to be slagging hard to get to them."  
"I'm building vectors for you to get to their location." Jazz's voice hissed over the comms, fading in and out. "I can bring you in on the back side."  
"Let's do it." Prime signaled for Prowl's shuttle to take the lead as Jazz's vector analysis flashed on both shuttles' screens. "I don't want to give them any more time than we already have."

***

Jazz's vector took both shuttles and Skyfire and Silverbolt swinging around the planet, and then on a shallow climb through the satellite plane. As they rose, picking their way through tumbling and spinning lanes of satellites and spent rocket parts, debris from decades of launches, the space around the shuttles became choked and tight. A piece of twisting metal brushed barely over Prowl's shuttle, narrowly missing an impact.  
"Careful," Jazz's voice fluttered over the comm line in Prowl's audial. He could see every movement through the satellite feeds.  
"I'm trying…" Prowl's denta gritted together as he gripped the controls, twisting and turning the shuttle as slowly and silently as he could, trying to be both stealthy and safe in the miasma of the orbital plane.  
"Alright, I can see them up ahead." Mirage rolled his shuttle as Prime stood over his shoulder, peering through the flight pod's viewscreen.  
"What are they up to?" Prime's hand clenched down on Mirage's chair.  
"Looks like they're just hanging there." Jazz's voice, again, faded with static. "What's going on?"  
"Wait a minute, wait a minute…" Skyfire's deep voice rumbled over the comm lines. "Where are the Seekers?"

***

Sunstreaker didn't join the battle.  
He didn't care if he never went out to another battle again if that meant he'd never have to leave his brother's side. Sunstreaker couldn't for the life of him imagine anything that would take him from this chair at his brother's side. Never. Not ever again. His optics roamed over Sideswipe's broken body, lingering on the long lines of his legs, his arms, his empty fingers.  
His brother was never this still. He wanted to scream at him, shout, punch him until he woke up and just slagging moved. Anything. Anything but this.  
Sunstreaker's optics drifted upward, tracing over Sideswipe's arms, skipping across his mangled chestplates, and then over to his faceplates and into his slowly-flickering optics.  
Starting, Sunstreaker burst from his chair. Prowler shifted in his arms, jerking at the sudden movement.  
Sunstreaker hovered over Sideswipe, his faceplates bare inches over his brother's as he held his breath. "Sides? Sides, can you hear me?" One hand reached out, and even though he knew it was useless, Sunstreaker grasped Sideswipe's fingers, squeezing hard.  
Again, Sideswipe's optics flickered, barely onlining.  
Heaving backward, Sunstreaker bellowed across the medbay. "Ratchet! Ratchet, come quick!" He turned back to Sideswipe instantly, ignoring the great crash he heard behind him coming from Ratchet's office, and he saw Sideswipe's optics finally flicker online. They were dim and distant, but they were pulsing and perfectly blue. "Sideswipe…." Sunstreaker whispered.  
Sideswipe's optics wavered, floating around as they searched for something. Finally they wandered toward Sunstreaker, and a little more strength surged into his gaze as Sideswipe spied over his brother's features. He began to cough, choking around the ventilation tube in his throat.  
Ratchet appeared at the berth across from Sunstreaker. "Easy, Sideswipe," he said softly. Too softly. "Exhale for me, Sides. I'm going to pull out the breathing tube."  
It took some effort, but Sideswipe finally managed to pant his way through an exhale, enough for Ratchet to gently pull the ventilation tube from his engine and snake it out of his throat. Sideswipe choked again as it withdrew, coughing hard as his gears resettled without the tube in place. His optics dimmed, and when he onlined them, Sunstreaker was staring into his optics, worry, fear, and desperation writ plain on his faceplates.  
"Sunny…" Sideswipe mouthed. He couldn't speak, not yet, and it was only a breathy croak. Still, the effort exhausted him, and Sideswipe sighed, his helm rolling back against the berth.  
Sunstreaker's hand squeezed down on Sideswipe's, begging for a response. Any reaction. Anything.  
Ratchet's optics caught on Sunstreaker's desperate squeeze. Sideswipe never reacted to the touch. He sighed, lowering his helm, and then turned to Sideswipe. "Sideswipe, there's something we have to tell you."

***

"Where'd the Seekers go?" Skyfire's sensors flared wide, searching for their comms beacons. "I can't find the Seeker's in my scans.  
On the Ark, Jazz was sending out search inquires through the Army satellites the humans had graciously allowed them to commandeer. The satellites pinged out, searching for the Decepticon comms signals, but nothing came back. "They've vanished."  
Perceptor frowned, peering at the holomap on the central ops console on Prowl's shuttle with Wheeljack. "Jazz, give me an overlay of your last scan." A new 3D rendering appeared on top of the first. Glaring out from the center of the map, six triangles of seeming-debris were hovering in the satellite cloud, glowing purple. "They're here!" Perceptor shouted over the comm lines.  
Mirage's fingers flew over his shuttle's controls. "Frag, they're right on top of us!"  
Hovering like knives above the Autobots, hidden within the debris field and offline, the six Seekers waited to strike.  
"Get out of there now!" Jazz shouted into the comm line as the Seeker's onlined, powering up to full status and charging their weapons.  
"We're trapped in the orbital cloud!" Prowl struggled as he shifted his shuttle, trying to dive and bank at the same time, trying to spin and pull up as he dodged the thousands of pieces of space debris surrounding their shuttle.  
The Seekers fired on the shuttles, trapped and floundering in the twisted cloud of satellites and debris. Laser shots rocked both hulls, sending each shuttle careening and sliding off their vectors. Debris slammed into the shuttles' hull plating, scratching deep gouges before they both twisted away.  
Skyfire and Silverbolt leapt forward, twisting and turning as they climbed through the field to engage the Seekers. Skyfire snaked over and around the satellites as Starscream and his trine fled, zipping away. "Stay with the Coneheads!" Skyfire shouted to Silverbolt. "I've got Starscream!"  
"Get us out of here!" Prime hollered at Mirage as another barrage of Seeker fire from the Coneheads slammed into their shuttle, searing their wing plating.  
"I'm trying!" Mirage's denta were gritted as he banked the shuttle hard, twirling end over end and scattering a field of dead shuttle parts and broken satellite pieces. He twisted, then dove, heading straight for Earth and the safety of the upper atmosphere.  
Mirage was trying to level off, trying to get the shuttle into position to fire back at the Coneheads when Starscream's trine reappeared. Starscream led, skimming the surface of Earth's atmosphere and firing on Mirage and Prime's shuttle as Mirage pulled out of his dive.  
Three shots snaked over the shuttle's hull plating. Skyfire dropped in behind Starscream and his trine, trying to catch the three Seekers. He was too far out, though, and Thundercracker and Skywarp fired with Starscream, streaking laser fire above and below the shuttle.  
Finally, the shots landed, striking Mirage and Prime's rear engines and sending them careening sideways in a cartwheel. The shuttle's wings dipped into Earth's upper atmosphere, catching on the thermosphere's drag, and suddenly the shuttle was spinning sideways, twirling as it was pulled into the searing, burning atmosphere.  
Mirage barely clung to the controls as the mechs within were thrown violently to the deck, sliding and skidding in the tumultuous, careening dive. Smokescreen tumbled end over end from his weapons station. His doorwing caught on the rivets in the floor, bouncing and dragging as he slid. His hands scrabbled for purchase, trying to stop his slide.  
Finally, a hand reached out, grasping Smokescreen's forearm and swinging him into an alcove beneath one of the Ops stations along the shuttle's wall. Smokescreen collapsed into the alcove, clinging to the edges to try to hold on. Bluestreak's hand grasped his, holding tight.  
Fire erupted on the forward flight pod, igniting the hull plating damaged by their collisions. "We're going down!" Mirage shouted over the burning chaos.

***

Sideswipe's optics were wide, panicked and burning bright. "Sunny?" he whispered. His helm turned away from Ratchet, away from his horrible, terrible words and his diagnosis, and his optics searched for his brother. "Sunny?"  
Sunstreaker couldn't speak. He didn't know what to say. His hand clenched down on Sideswipe's fingers again, lacing their hands together.  
"I can't feel my legs," Sideswipe whispered.  
"Sides…" Sunstreaker grunted. He tried to speak, but only pained grunts, small noises from the back of his choked throat fell from his lips. Prowler stirred in his arms again, wakened by the noises around him and Sideswipe's voice. Prowler's helm twisted, his optics fuzzily onlining as he searched for Sideswipe.  
Sunstreaker lifted Sideswipe's hand, pressing his brother's fingers to his lips. He kissed his knuckles open-mouthed, lingering breaths of painful longing pressed into each digit.  
Sideswipe's faceplates crumbled, raw and anguished. "Sunny," he croaked, trying to shout. His gears caught, choking his voice. "Sunny, I can't feel you." He tried, he really did try, to move his hand, to squeeze down in his brother's.  
"I'm here, Sides," Sunstreaker whispered. His voice was shaking. "I'm here."  
"I can't feel you…" Sideswipe repeated. His optics offlined as he gasped.  
His optics surged online as he heard Prowler's soft cry from within his bundled blanket. Sunstreaker shifted Prowler in his arms, but Sideswipe's optics fixed to their sparkling.  
"Sunny, give him to me," Sideswipe whispered. His vocalizer was shaking. "I want to hold him."  
Sunstreaker swallowed hard. He pressed his lips against Sideswipe's fingers. "You can't, Sides."  
"Give me Prowler, Sunny…."  
"Sideswipe…" Sunstreaker's optics were blazing, burning white. "Sides, you can't…"  
"Give me my sparkling!" Sideswipe tried to shout. "I want to hold him!"  
Prowler started crying, long wails mixed with hiccupping sighs as he struggled and reached for Sideswipe. Sunstreaker gritted his denta as his optics flickered, streaking with static. He tried to speak, but couldn't force the words out, and he didn't know what to say anyway. He squeezed down on Sideswipe's hand even though it was useless and tucked his face right next to Sideswipe, curling himself around Prowler and resting their sparkling on top of Sideswipe's inert, motionless body. "Sides," he whispered into his brother audial. "He's lying on your shoulder."  
Static burst from Sideswipe, scratchy and full of pain. Lingering wails filled the medbay, mixing with Prowler's long cries, and Sideswipe turned his helm, pressing his face against his brother's. "I can't feel him…" Sideswipe whispered slowly. "I can't feel anything."

***

Mirage was trying to pull out of the dive, but the shuttle kept burning. Flames covered the entire surface, and warning klaxons were sounding throughout the shuttle. He gritted his denta, pulling against the controls with everything he had. "We're burning up!"  
Wheeljack stared out from the forward flight pod on Prowl's shuttle, watching the burning descent of Mirage and Prime's shuttle. "Mirage!" he shouted over the comm. "Stop fighting the drag! You've got to go down!"  
"Not giving up!" Mirage shouted back. Warning klaxons echoed over the comm channel from Mirage's shuttle.  
"You're going to explode!" Wheeljack's optics widened as a chunk of Mirage's wing broke off, flying off the shuttle and disintegrating in the upper atmosphere. "You have to dive! Now!"  
Grunting, Mirage finally let go of the controls, letting the shuttle fall forward and down into the atmosphere. Without the wing stabilizing their descent, and without the controls guiding their flight path, the shuttle spun, twirling and spinning faster as they plunged toward the Earth. "We've entered into a –" The comm channel broke off, squealing before the shuttle's comm array completely died.  
The Aerialbots broke over the comm channel. "We've spotted the shuttle." Slingshot's voice was tight, calm and controlled, more so than anyone would ever give him credit for. "We're moving in."  
Wheeljack shuddered as he watched the fireball disappear into the clouds, falling into the Earth's atmosphere. _Not again! Please, don't let another mech be injured because of me!_  
Prowl banked their shuttle, moving out of range as he shifted amidst the swirling satellites. Mirage had barreled his way out of the satellite field, but Prowl had twisted up and around, reversing course as best he could. Of course, now the carefully plotted and projected paths of the satellites were all haywire, and parts and pieces of space debris were crashing into one another all around. Prowl's sensor couldn't make any sense of the mess surrounding them. He didn't know where they were or where anyone else was.  
"Jazz, what's going on?" His voice was tight, panic lacing the edges. "Help us up here. I'm blind."  
"I've got you," Jazz said quickly. "I'm plotting your position now."  
Even that, even just those words from Jazz, and Prowl relaxed marginally. "Thanks," he whispered over the comm.  
Jazz didn't respond, but he sent up a new map to Perceptor, outlining the battlespace. Starscream's trine and Skyfire were battling on the far edges of the debris field and far out of range. Silverbolt and the Coneheads were fighting near the stolen rocket, tucked against one of the larger satellites as parts and pieces were dragged from the satellite and transferred into the rocket.  
Suddenly, the rocket pushed away from the satellite, and panels blew off the lower third of the rocket's housing, exposing large Ark-reactor propulsion jets that slowly extended from the rocket's base.  
"They're doing something," Wheeljack called out. His fingers flew across his control panel, scans traveling over the rocket and its jury-rigged propulsion stolen from their technology. The scan were disjointed and they broke apart on the static of the satellite field, but Wheeljack caught the edge of a countdown sequence. "They're getting ready to blast out of here!"  
"Jazz, we need to get over there."  
"I'm plotting you a vector now." Jazz's voice was calm and controlled, a soothing balm to Prowl's raging processor. He needed it, and him, so badly. "It's beaming up to you."  
Prowl shifted the shuttle, maneuvering them as fast as he dared through the technological miasma and satellite graveyard, trying to get closer to the rocket. As he moved, the Coneheads took notice, and they turned away from Silverbolt and moved to Prowl.  
"Frag," Prowl hissed. He turned, calling over his shoulder to the command deck. "Ready on weapons!" Perceptor and Wheeljack nodded, and they relayed his orders down to Hound, Tracks, and Blaster, manning the weapons control stations.  
"They're going to come up on your port side," Jazz's voice spoke into Prowl's audial. "Give them a dive and roll over their backplates. Give our guys two chances to kick their afts." There was a playful, dark lilt to Jazz's voice, just as when he was in the thick of battle, devising strategies to end-run-around the Decepticons. Prowl swallowed, inhaling shakily and nodded, forgetting for a moment that Jazz wasn't right next to him.  
The Coneheads came up on Prowl's port side, just as predicted, and Prowl shifted down, diving under their approach and their laser fire, then rolled, banking sideways as he barrel-rolled up and over their delta pattern.  
"Fire!" Perceptor shouted, watching as the targeting arrays lined up on the Ops console, a solid, pinging red over each Conehead.  
The laser blasts slammed into the Coneheads, sending them skittering through the satellite field and out of control. "Great shot!" Jazz called over the comm. Prowl grinned, though it was tight and small, and grunted back.  
Silverbolt fell into place at Prowl's wing as they formed up and headed for the rocket. It wasn't far, but the rocket was just beginning to move. Booster thrusters were propelling the rocket slowly forward, heading for a large satellite field in medium orbit.  
"Where's Skyfire?" Prowl reached out with the shuttle's sensors. Skyfire was at the very edge of the orbital field, past the geosynchronous orbit limit, chasing Starscream's trine as they dodged and parried with the larger shuttle. Prowl sighed. "Guess we're on our own, Silverbolt."  
"I'm with you, Prowl," Silverbolt chirped back.  
"Don't forget 'bout me," Jazz groused on the comm.  
"I'd be long gone without you, Jazz," Prowl breathed honestly.  
An uncomfortable silence filled the comm line as Prowl pushed the shuttle forward, following after the Decepticon rocket. Astrotrain and Blast Off led at the rocket's nosecone, speeding up as they reached the new satellite field.  
"We'll catch them in just one minute." Prowl stared over the readouts, trying to track the Coneheads. "Silverbolt, any sign of the Coneheads?"  
"No sir. They peeled out of there. They're meeting up with Starscream's trine."  
"Why aren't they chasing us?" Prowl's sensor flared out again, but the interference was too great. The interference seemed to be growing stronger the closer they got to the medium orbit satellites. "Jazz… What's ahead in that satellite field?"  
Over the comm, Prowl could hear Jazz cursing softly. "Those are military satellites, Prowl." He cursed again. "Damn Army lets us use their comms satellites, but won't let us know what's in those slick nickel-babies." He grunted. "Hold on."  
The rocket had disappeared into the satellite field ahead and was pressing forward, gaining speed. On Prowl's shuttle, the interference from the nearing satellites had grown with every meter they gained on the rocket. Lights flickered within the shuttle, consoles shorted and whined, and the engine controls beneath Prowl's hand were jerking and trembling. "Jazz…" he called over the comm. "Something's not right." The rocket lurched forward, jolting as Prowl neared the edge of the medium orbit field. "Jazz…"  
A large warning blared over the comm line, echoing across the channel from the Ark. "Frag!" Jazz shouted. "Prowl, get out of there now!"  
Prowl didn't wait for an explanation. He banked hard, twisting the shuttle around as Blast off and Astrotrain turned around, setting their sights and their targeting arrays on the satellites in medium orbit. The rocket pressed on, zipping away from Astrotrain and Blast Off as the second stage fell away and the Ark's stolen propulsion system expanded, taking on the familiar horizontal configuration of their original spaceship.  
"Prowl, get out of there!" Jazz shouted again. "Those are military satellites! They've got nukes on board!"  
Prowl cursed as he gunned the shuttle's engines, opening the throttle hard. Still, the shuttle wasn't ever meant to be fast or maneuverable, not like the jet fighters, and the shuttle heaved as it struggled to flee. Silverbolt shot ahead, leaving Prowl behind. He circled back, but Prowl waved him off. "Get out of here, Silverbolt!"  
Blast Off and Astrotrain flashed their lights at Prowl once, an ironic salute, and fired at the nuclear satellites.  
Silently, the nukes exploded on impact, and then a chain reaction set off another, and then another. Gamma rays shot out, colliding with beta particles and neutrons, and the silent electromagnetic shockwave shattered every satellite it crashed into, exploding and expanding outward, heading for Prowl's shuttle and Earth.  
"Get out of there!" Jazz hollered into the comm line. "Prowl! Get-" Another high pitched squeal, and then the comm systems shorted out.  
The shuttle was shaking, trembling and quaking beneath their feet as the shockwave grew, chasing them down in their blind flee to Earth. All around, bursting satellites were flashing across their orbits, brief fireworks of shrieking systems and lightning fires that exploded into vapor. On board Prowl's shuttle, systems started to fritz, and Hound's weapons control system shattered, spraying his face with melting glass and burning electrical fire. Screaming, Hound fell to the deck, grabbing his faceplates as he rolled in pain.  
Wheeljack ran to Hound's side, barely staying on his feet as the shuttle jerked and rattled. Perceptor ran for Prowl, clinging to the back of his pilot's chair and struggling to stay on his feet.  
"We have to go faster!" Perceptor shouted to Prowl over the roar of the shuttle's alarms. "We're going to be destroyed!"  
"I'm flying the shuttle apart!" Prowl hollered back. "I can't go any faster!" Ahead, Silverbolt was dodging the exploding satellites and weaving in and out of the debris, barreling for Earth's atmosphere.  
"The shockwave is almost on us!" The shuttle jerked and Perceptor stumbled. He grabbed at Prowl's pilot's seat as he tumbled, barely catching himself. The fire alarm system flashed on Prowl's console, and an alert blared through the shuttle. The rear section of the shuttle was on fire.  
Prowl's optics met Perceptor's. "There's nothing else I can do."  
Perceptor inhaled quickly and his mouth opened, trying to speak, but the electromagnetic shockwave overtook them. The shuttle pitched, tumbling end over end, and slammed hard into Earth's atmosphere.

***

Skyfire stared at the unending destruction surrounding Earth, the exploded satellite fields, the nuclear energies rippling across the atmosphere, and the radiation belts spiking throughout his sensors and systems. "What have you done?" he shouted at Starscream.  
Starscream slowed from Skyfire's pursuit, though Thundercracker and Skywarp zipped ahead, joining Megatron and the other Decepticons in their stolen rocket as they prepared to escape forever. "We're leaving, Skyfire," Starscream snapped, lazily turning on Skyfire and rolling over his altmode. He paused. "Come with us."  
"Are you crazy? Do you know what you've done?" Skyfire shouted.  
"We're getting the frag off this mudball," Starscream snapped. "I'm offering you a chance to get free of that prison!"  
Skyfire turned away from Starscream, gunning his engines toward Earth. His sensors flared outward, but he couldn't pick up anything. Not a bleep. Not a sign of the rest of the Autobots. Only static.  
"Skyfire!"  
"If you ever come back, Starscream…" Skyfire started. Their comm line faded, static creeping in from the growing nuclear interference. "I won't hesitate to shoot you."

***

Sunstreaker had curled himself on Sideswipe's medberth, lying right next to his brother with Prowler stretched out across Sideswipe's shoulder. Prowler's faceplates were tucked against Sideswipe's neck, just beneath Sunstreaker's chin. Sunstreaker stroked his nose over Sideswipe's cheek. His optics were faded, nearly offline, and his lips whispered against Sideswipe's plating. "I'm here, Sides… You can feel this… You can feel me. I'm here. I'm here…"  
Sideswipe was silent. Ratchet had to sedate him to stop his screaming.  
Distantly, Sunstreaker heard the Ark's alarm blaring and he heard the panicked shouts of the mechs left on board racing into the medbay, calling for Ratchet. Everything was a blur, a far off haze, and Sunstreaker couldn't make out the words everyone was screaming. He didn't want to. He didn't want to listen to anything.  
He'd just heard the worst words he'd ever heard in his life. Worse than in the past with Sideswipe's follies, worse than all the darkness of the war, worse than anything he'd ever imagined.  
Sideswipe didn't want to live like this.

***

Two weeks had passed since the Decepticon exodus and the nuclear annihilation of a large portion of the humans' satellite fields. The human-Autobot alliance was shaky at best, but Prime had put off negotiations until the Ark crew was healed.  
Mirage and Prime's shuttle had careened toward Earth in an fiery corkscrew dive, spinning faster and faster and out of control, until quick action by Slingshot and Air Raid had managed to steady and slow the shuttle, and then bring it under control. They two fliers had had to get far too close to the fiery shuttle's dive, and both fliers sported incredible burns for days. Still, they were marks of pride for the fliers, who had saved the shuttle and all the mechs on board. The shuttle, more burned wreckage than working machinery, finally settled down with a thump in the high Washington desert. The mechs within had emerged shaken and coughing and blackened from smoke inhalation, but alive and online.  
Prowl's shuttle had been caught in the electromagnetic shockwave and been fried by the radiation that bombarded the satellite fields and the exosphere. They slammed into the atmosphere and lost control, streaking across the sky like a fiery meteorite, and everyone on Earth had stared at the explosion in the heavens and the radiation shockwave blooming through the skies. Waves of electrical energy had surged, and roils of burning clouds stretched over the Earth for days. Aurorae stretched as far south as Mexico, Ethiopia, and Java.  
A large contingent of humans now believed the end was here. The Autobots had taken on the role of evil invaders, the evil forces of Magog of Ezekiel prophecy, or, depending on which faction on Earth was consulted, the Autobots were vengeful angels wrought with fiery vengeance.  
Prime felt the fiery vengeance fit well. Very well.  
Prowl's shuttle had eventually crash-landed in the Pacific after a lengthy but failed series of intercept flights the Air Force had attempted. Communications were down with the shuttle, and the Autobots on board the Ark could only watch in horror as the craft had lunged, heavy and silent, through the atmosphere. Thankfully, Wheeljack's triple redundancy and separately shielded generator system had protected the manual emergency-emergency backups, and a series of parachutes had deployed on their final descent. The shuttles splashdown was cushioned – slightly - thanks to the three parachutes sporting red Autobot sigils, flapping and billowing in the wind.  
The Air Force helped recover the mechs onboard, though most were offline and fritzing, overloaded with energy and radiation and in lockdown. Prowl had forcibly overridden his shut down sequences and stayed online, doing anything he could to bring the shuttle in safely, and it was him who had hard wired the overrides for Wheeljack's emergency backups. When the Air Force cut into the shuttle's hull, Prowl was the only mech online, and he was clinging to consciousness as he crawled toward the opening.  
Ratchet worked with the Air Force, transporting the offline mechs back to the Ark. They were all covered in radiation, dripping in it, and their systems were blowing up with the continued exposure. Their bodies were health risks to the Ark and crew as well. Medbay systems shut down, shorting out after prolonged contact with the shuttle's crew. Ratchet instituted full decontamination and quarantine procedures.  
Jazz was ordered to stay far, far away from the medbay, and far away from the shuttle's crew. He watched as Prowl's offline and badly burnt body was carted from the Air Force transport plane and into the Ark. Their sparkling shifted within his tanks, swirling his systems and sending a jolt through his spark. He'd turned away.  
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were moved to one of the back surgical wards, separated and contained and away from the radioactive crew. Sunstreaker never left Sideswipe's side, and he moved into the surgical ward with Prowler and his mini-berth. Prowler fell into recharge in Sunstreaker's arms each night, and then he was settled into his miniberth. Sunstreaker climbed in to the berth with Sideswipe, holding his brother for the rest of the night cycle, each and every night.  
He pushed off recharge as long as he could. He watched his brother instead, taking in every line and curve of his plating, every tender place on his faceplates. He wanted to memorize everything, drink every moment in, and never, ever let Sideswipe go.  
Sideswipe, however, was fading.  
Sideswipe's systems were shutting down, and only Ratchet's interventions were keeping him alive. He was offline more than on, and when he was online, Sideswipe wavered between a depressed stupor and fits of hysterical misery.  
Ratchet did the best he could, trying to keep Sideswipe comfortable and trying to keep him online and alive, but Sideswipe's sad optics followed his movements every time he stabilized one of Sideswipe's fading or cascading systems. He had to spike Sideswipe's engine directly, flooding his systems with energon after his fuel pump shut down. His plating was softening, losing its hardness as the ores slipped from his frame.  
It was a hard two weeks for everyone, and Ratchet watched it near-helplessly. These were problems he couldn't fix.  
One by one the shuttle's crew onlined. Perceptor first, then Blaster. They were still radioactive, but they were online, and he allowed them to leave under strict orders to return as soon as they noticed a fading or failing system. Radioactivity was a lingering malady, and their systems would be vulnerable to failure for days or years to come.  
Mirage flat out ignored Ratchet's command to stay out and sat with Hound during the day. He cleaned the gashes in Hound's faceplates by hand, rubbing a soft cleansing cloth over his faceplates before helping to hand-seal the wounds with an electro-regenerator. Hound onlined looking into his beloved faceplates, and Ratchet couldn't begrudge him that.  
Eventually Tracks onlined, though he was grumbling and groaning about everything under the sun, and Ratchet allowed him to leave quickly.  
Finally, Wheeljack onlined, and that was more ridiculously difficult than it needed to be. Few words were said between them, other than Ratchet's gruff orders about radiation sickness and watching for failing systems. Wheeljack had been silent and still, and he shuffled out of the medbay without looking back.  
Prowl stayed offline. His damages were more extensive, and the radiation more severe. He'd refused his systems lockdown and had exposed himself to the most extreme lengths of radiation damage. Ratchet already had had to completely replace several of his systems. There was no telling how many more would fail in the years to come.  
"You stupid slagger," Ratchet whispered over Prowl's offline body. "Gotta be the hero and do the right thing all the time, huh?"  
"He's got a talent for that." Jazz's voice startled Ratchet, and the medic nearly jumped out of his plating.  
"Jazz!" Ratchet whirled around, glaring. "You aren't supposed to be here," he growled. "It's dangerous to you and your sparkling."  
Jazz's optics flashed behind his visor, but he remained silent, staring at Prowl's offline body on the medberth. "Is he going to be alright?"  
"I hope so," Ratchet said bluntly. He didn't mince his words. "Eventually."  
Jazz nodded slowly and swallowed. He stepped forward, moving to Prowl's medberth and ignoring Ratchet's warning growl about radiation and his sparkling. One hand rose, and his fingers rubbed over Prowl's chevron before sliding down his cheek. The burn damage was slowly fading, and mismatched shades of grey stretched over his faceplates. Jazz smiled grimly. Prowl was still beautiful.  
"Jazz, you really shouldn't be here," the medic grumbled.  
"Yeah." Jazz dropped his hand and stepped back. "Yeah, I know." He turned and left the medbay without another glance.

***

Wheeljack bounced Prowler in his arms, watching as the sparkling giggled and shrieked, laughing hysterically at their game.  
Wheeljack underwent an extensive decontamination check, scrubbing himself and all of his systems and code as thoroughly as he could, and then again, before he went back to Sunstreaker and offered to watch Prowler during the day while Sunstreaker sat with Sideswipe. Sunstreaker had silently agreed, and Wheeljack became Prowler's daytime sparkling-sitter again.  
This time, Wheeljack enjoyed his time with the sparkling, though it was tainted with the reality of Sideswipe's condition. He wasn't watching Prowler because the twins were on duty, or out playing, or even on a date. He was watching Prowler because Sunstreaker was watching his paralyzed brother slowly die. The thought, the reality, sat heavy in Wheeljack's spark and processor.  
The crew had reacted hard to news of Sideswipe's paralyzed condition. Sadness and sorrow gripped the crew, impossible to shake. Beyond that, the shifting nature of their alliance, and the uncertain future they had on Earth were weighing on every mechs' processor. It was a hard time to be an Autobot, stuck between pain and uncertainty.  
Wheeljack spent most of the day in the Rec room with Prowler, letting the others help him entertain and play with the twins' sparkling. It helped everyone in some small way feel connected to the twins, and in the helplessness of the situation, gave everyone a focal point for their myriad fears. And Prowler, being a carbon copy of Sideswipe, absolutely adored the attention he was being basked in. He giggled and grinned and played with every mech who came to him, obliviously loving every minute of it.  
Wheeljack shifted, setting Prowler down on the blanket he'd spread out on the floor. Prowler pushed himself up, sitting on his bottom as he chewed on his battered Prime plushy. Prowler had started to sit on his own in the last week, and when Wheeljack told Sunstreaker, the yellow twin had only looked even more morose and dejected. "Describe it to me," Sunstreaker had grunted, "so I can tell Sides what it looked like."  
Wheeljack shook his helm, trying to shake the gloom in his circuits. Hound was stalking toward Prowler on all fours, crawling across the Rec room and dodging chairs and tables as he pretended to be a dog. He was barking at Prowler, dropping to his forearms as he stuck his aft in the air and pretended to wag an invisible tail. Prowler shrieked with laughter, giggling as he tried to repeat Hound's barks with gruff shouts of his own.

***

Nearby, Smokescreen watched the playtime with a fond smile stretched over his faceplates. His optics lingered on Prowler, happy and oblivious to the misery onboard. _At least he can have a happy life right now. We can give him that._  
"How's this?" Blaster pushed his tablet across the table to Smokescreen.  
Smokescreen grabbed the tablet and tilted it toward him. Blaster wasn't the Ark's resident artist, but he'd done the best he could. A sparkling was crawling – at least, Smokescreen thought he was crawling – toward a giant electro-stalk growing to the sky, and a giant mech looked down from above, kneeling on a cloud as he peered at the sparkling.  
"' _Jack and the Electro-stalk_?" Smokescreen quirked his optic ridges at Blaster.  
Blaster grinned. "Yep. I remember that one from when I was a little byte." He motioned for the tablet back, and then flicked through the screen, showing Smokescreen the story he'd scrawled from memory and the few illustrations he'd penned within.  
Smokescreen nodded, smiling. "I got _Goodnight Stars_ and _The Little Electron that Could_." He passed across his two tablets.  
Blaster grinned as he read through the sparkling stories. "Man, these are great!"  
Looking up, Smokescreen saw Bluestreak slide into the Rec room. He looked out of place, nervously glancing around before he spotted Prowler and Wheeljack playing with Hound in the back corner. A circle of mechs surrounded the group, laughing and cheering on the games. Bluestreak sighed, heading in the opposite direction and for one of the empty tables in the far corner.  
"Hey Blue!" Smokescreen called out. He waved the gunner over.  
Bluestreak stared at Smokescreen. He froze, his faceplates twisting over themselves, and then finally sighed and moved to Smokescreen and Blaster's table. He shifted on his feet as he stood awkwardly next to them both, staring at the array of pads spread out on the table. "What's all this?" he grunted.  
"We're writing down sparkling stories for Prowler," Smokescreen said, glancing up at Bluestreak. He smiled, trying to reach his friend. "You know, we don't have any of our sparkling stuff from home saved anywhere. The Sparkling's Library was never uploaded to Teletraan One."  
Bluestreak snorted. "Yeah, go figure."  
Smokescreen ignored him. "We're trying to make up for that." He passed over one of his tablets. "We're writing down the sparkling stories we can remember."  
Bluestreak was silent as he flipped through the Goodnight Stars tablet. "How many have you written?"  
"About eight. I'm trying to get as many of the crew to help as possible." Smokescreen paused, his optics glancing across to Blaster. "Wanna help?"  
A long moment passed, silent and heavy. Bluestreak swallowed, his doorwings shifting on his backplates. He set the tablet down with a soft click against the tabletop. "Do you have _Sparkle the Magic Mech-o-Saur_?"  
Smokescreen glanced at Blaster. He shook his helm. "Uhh, no, don't have that one." Smokescreen grabbed a blank tablet and passed it toward Bluestreak. "Why don't you help us put it down?"  
Bluestreak's faceplates twisted as he stared at Smokescreen, long suffering frustration pouring out. His optics flicked from the blank tablet to Smokescreen's faceplates. They hadn't spoken since their fight before their shuttle had crashed during the Decepticon exodus, and this is what Smokescreen wanted to talk about?  
Sighing, Bluestreak grabbed the pad and threw himself into the chair next to Blaster. "Fine," he grumbled. "But I'm not drawing anything."  
"I'll draw for ya." Blaster shouldered Bluestreak good-naturedly and showed him the cover he'd drawn with the electro-stalk.  
"That looks like a giant squiggly line covered in static."  
"Hey!" Blaster frowned at Bluestreak and pulled his tablet back. "Draw your own pictures then!"  
Finally, Bluestreak smiled at Blaster. He sighed again as he turned to the tablet and started outlining what he remembered from Sparkle the Magic Mech-o-Saur.

***

Ratchet had to escape the medbay.  
Between Prowl's stubbornly offline form and the Sideswipe's slow, lingering death spiral, the medbay had turned into a living morgue. Even Sunstreaker seemed grayer, and Ratchet was going stir-crazy with the palpable depression hanging in the air. He was depressed enough on his own. Watching his friends succumb to their injuries was pushing his processor into dangerous areas.  
He staggered down the hallways, heading for the Rec room. Exhaustion clung to his circuits. He hadn't had a full night of recharge in ages, even long before the shuttle crashes. Ever since he and Wheeljack had broken up.  
The thought still stung, even more so now that he was back on board the Ark and saw Wheeljack every day. Wheeljack had somehow, in the time Ratchet had been gone, discovered his inner sparkling and had turned into Prowler's most favored playmate. Wheeljack stayed with Prowler every day, and there were few places Ratchet could go on the Ark that didn't showcase Wheeljack's newfound sparkling love.  
That stung even worse. Wheeljack had left him over sparklings… and there he was, devoting himself to Prowler with the same enthusiasm that he devoted to his engineering. Or that he used to show Ratchet.  
Sighing, Ratchet palmed open the doors to the Rec room. A loud peel of laughter rolled out from within, washing over his dark circuits. His expression twisted as he spotted Wheeljack lying on the decking, Prowler sitting on his chestplates as Wheeljack imitated Sideswipe's game of Drive.  
_Well, now what?_ Not much else to do but head inside and grab a cube. Ratchet pushed into the Rec room and ignored the group of mechs surrounding Prowler and Wheeljack as best he could. He grabbed his cube and collapsed on the couch, letting his helm tilt back to rest against the back as his optics offlined.  
Another loud peel of laughter. Unbidden, Ratchet's optics flickered online as he turned and stared at Wheeljack and Prowler. His optics caught on Prowler's deliriously happy smile and on the shine in his optics. _He looks so much like Sideswipe._  
Ratchet was taking another sip of his energon when his processor jolted, shrieking suddenly in dozens of different colors and shades that called him idiot. He spat his energon, coughing, and his optics lingered on Prowler's soft smile. _It really is identical to Sideswipe's._

***

Sunstreaker curled next to Sideswipe, holding his brother's hand and lacing their fingers together. He rested their conjoined hands on Sideswipe's chestplate, high enough that Sideswipe could see they were holding hands. He couldn't feel anything, but he could see it. Sunstreaker pressed his face against Sideswipe's, letting his nose rub over his brother's cheek. "Hey bro," he whispered. "Gonna wake up?"  
Sideswipe groaned, and he tried to turn his helm away. "Don't, Sunny," Sideswipe whispered. He swallowed and finally let his optics flicker online. His helm slowly turned toward Sunstreaker. "You have to let me go," Sideswipe whispered again.  
Sunstreaker shook his helm, clenching his jaw. He couldn't speak. He shook his helm harder.  
"Sunny…" Sideswipe's voice faded, static crawling through his tired words. "I'm dying."  
"No you're not," Sunstreaker snapped. "We're going to be fine. I'm going to take care of you-"  
Sideswipe shook his helm. "No, Sunny…" His optics flickered, fading. "This isn't the life we're supposed to have."  
"We can adjust-" Sunstreaker started.  
"I can't." Sideswipe's optics finally powered online fully, and he stared into his brother's gaze. "I can't adjust to his, Sunny."  
Sunstreaker was silent. He couldn't speak past his clenching gears.  
"I can't lie in a berth for years, Sunny. I can't lie here and listen to everything Prowler is doing, everything he's doing without me. I can't watch him grow up and never have any interaction with him. I don't want to just have a kiss on my cheek at the end of the day, Sunny. I want to run with him. I want to teach him to transform. Teach him to drive. Watch him figure out how to play ball, and Levels, and learn to read. I want to hold him in my lap, rock him to sleep at night. Hold his hand. Walk outside with him." Sideswipe coughed, not used to speaking that much.  
Sunstreaker's optics were streaked with white lines of agony, pain pushing out from every joint of his body. "What about us?" Sunstreaker whispered. Static clung to his throaty words.  
Sideswipe smiled, a real, brilliant smile. "You love me," Sideswipe whispered. "You really love me."  
Sunstreaker nodded, rubbing his nose over Sideswipe's cheek, over and over.  
"Sunny, I can die happy now. All I've ever wanted was your love." Sideswipe pressed his helm against Sunstreaker's. "And I have it. You love me."  
"I don't want to be without you." Sunstreaker let go of Sideswipe's hand and reached for his helm. He grabbed Sideswipe's helm, forcing his brother to keep looking at him. "I can't."  
Sideswipe nodded. "Yes you can," he whispered. "You're strong, Sunny. So strong. So much stronger than I am." His optics flickered as he rubbed his face against his brother's. It was the only way they could touch anymore. "You'll be alright. You are an amazing parent."  
"Sides…." Sunstreaker couldn't speak any more, and his hands were near-painful as they gripped Sideswipe's helm, squeezing his plating.  
"I won't ever really leave you, Sunny," Sideswipe whispered.  
"Sideswipe," Sunstreaker growled as he pressed their faces together. He gasped, then pressed their lips together, hungrily seeking a demanding kiss. "You can't do this to me, you fragger!"  
Sideswipe kissed back with all the energy he could. He moaned as Sunstreaker pulled back, gasping around a sob. Sideswipe smiled sadly. "You have to let me go. My systems are fading. I don't want Ratchet to keep repairing them."  
Sunstreaker offlined his optics, shaky breaths and choked sobs gasping from his vocalizer. He shook his helm slowly, over and over.  
Sideswipe butted his helm. "Okay?" Sunstreaker wouldn't answer. "Sunny… I'm asking you. Please."  
"Don't ask me to do this," Sunstreaker growled.  
Sideswipe shook his helm and pressed a kiss to his brother's faceplates. "Just stay with me until the end."  
Slowly, Sunstreaker started to nod, but the sobs kept coming, shaking and trembling through his body.

***

Ratchet flew through the Ark, tearing for the medbay and his office. He was so stupid, he was so, so stupid. They had so little time left, but maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to save Sideswipe.  
He ducked into the medbay and ran to his office, not bothering to check on Sunstreaker and Sideswipe as he slid behind his terminal. His fingers flew, pulling open long-unused files and accessing archives he hadn't touched since well before the war.  
He had so much work to do.

***

Wheeljack slowly walked back to the medbay. He hated returning Prowler at the end of the day. Sunstreaker was a shell of his former self, and Sideswipe looked dead all the time. He kept pushing it back, keeping Prowler longer and longer. Neither mech said a word about him passively abducting their sparkling, and now, Prowler was fast offline and recharging in his arms. Wheeljack took the long way back to the medbay, but still, he finally arrived at the main doors.  
He sighed, preparing himself to face the twins. He never thought he'd prefer the old Sunstreaker, but he'd give anything for the arrogant, snide, and rude mech to come back from the depressed and morose shell he'd become.  
Wheeljack frowned as he passed Ratchet's office. The medic was furiously working within, scrawling over diagrams and readouts and pouring through seven different pads and tablets scattered on the desktop surface. Wheeljack passed the office without Ratchet looking up, though that wasn't unusual these days. They hadn't spoken about anything other than work since Ratchet had thrown him from the medbay two weeks ago over Sideswipe.  
Silently, Wheeljack slipped into the back surgical ward, but instead of Sunstreaker sitting in his chair, growing roots next to Sideswipe's berth, the golden twin was offline and clinging to Sideswipe and stretched out in his berth. Sideswipe was offline as well, and their helms were twisted together, faceplates touching as much as they could. Swallowing, Wheeljack stared, watching the two as his spark sputtered, shifting painfully in his chest. He gently lowered Prowler into the miniberth in the berth next to the twins and crept out of the surgical ward.  
It was hard to ignore how much worse Sideswipe was getting each day. Wheeljack sighed and closed the door softly behind him. He still couldn't shake the crushing guilt that overwhelmed him every time he saw Sideswipe.  
"Wheeljack."  
Wheeljack jumped out of his plating, gasping as he grabbed at his chestplates. He whirled around, wide optics staring at Ratchet, leaning out of his office.  
"Primus, Ratchet!" Wheeljack gasped. His audial fins finally faded offline. "You scared the spark out of me." He stared at Ratchet, taking in the medic's energy and the thrum of Ratchet's hands. His fingers were vibrating. That only happened he was working way too hard. "What's up?"  
"I need your help. Come with me." Ratchet disappeared into his office.  
Well, it's better than nothing. Wheeljack padded after Ratchet and collapsed into the chair before his desk. He reached out, flipping one of the tablets on Ratchet's desktop toward him. His optics widened, then turned white-bright with shock.  
Wheeljack's helm shot up, his optics staring at Ratchet as his audial fins flared. "You've got to be joking…"  
"I think I can do it," Ratchet grunted, not looking at Wheeljack. "But I'll need your help."  
Wheeljack struggled to swallow past the gears in his throat. "Ratchet…"  
"It's the only way." Ratchet's optics finally shifted, meeting Wheeljack's. "It's the only hope Sideswipe has."  
"But…" Wheeljack sputtered, searching for words. "You're talking about a sparkling. A sparkling. And you want to use risky medical experimentation to try something that no one knows if it can even work?"  
"It can work," Ratchet snapped. "I ran some of these studies, years ago before the war."  
"Ratchet, this isn't an offline shell…" Wheeljack's voice faded away, and the memories of that evening came flashing back, assaulting him. "This is Prowler!" Wheeljack snapped, louder than he meant to.  
"I fragging know that!" Rather shouted back at Wheeljack. "But, slaggit, I have to try!" He slammed his hands down against the desk. "I have to try something, Wheeljack, before Sideswipe dies. He's dying, and there's nothing I can do. Except this!"  
A long beat of silence stretched between the two mechs as they glared at each other.  
Finally, Ratchet looked away, sighing explosively. His hands rose, trembling, and he cupped his helm as he pitched forward. His optics offlined as he stared down at the desktop. "You know, I am so slagging mad at Sideswipe," Ratchet choked out. "He threw his life away. He left Prowler with only one parent. He's such an all-slagged idiot," Ratchet ground out through gritted denta. "I can't let him die, Wheeljack. I can't."  
Wheeljack stared at Ratchet. "I understand why Sideswipe did what he did, Ratchet," Wheeljack finally said. "I'm so upset at what's happened," he said, trying to force his words over suddenly-clenching gears, "but I understand why he went."  
Ratchet snorted and didn't look up. "Well, you're just as selfish as he is."  
Wincing, Wheeljack looked away. "Ratchet-"  
"Sideswipe put himself before his sparkling, 'Jack." Ratchet finally onlined his optics and glared at Wheeljack. "He put what he wanted before what's best for Prowler."  
"Sideswipe was trying to do what was best for him and Sunstreaker," Wheeljack said. "He put Sunstreaker before himself. That's not selfish." Wheeljack swallowed, watching Ratchet's impassive face. Ratchet arched one optic ridge toward him as Wheeljack kept speaking. "Sideswipe did what he did because he can't live without the love of his life, Ratchet." He paused, shifting and wondering if he should keep talking. He pressed on; he was never one to know when to stop. "I know exactly what that's like. If it were you out there, I'd have done the exact same thing."  
Silence. Ratchet held Wheeljack's stare, long and hard. Finally he moved, pushing himself up from his slouch and turning back to his tablets. "We broke up, Wheeljack," Ratchet said coldly.  
"That doesn't mean I still don't love you with all of my spark." Wheeljack laid it all out on the table. He waited, watching Ratchet carefully.  
Ratchet ignored Wheeljack, working over his tablets and comparing his notes to Prowler's recent sparkling exam data. They would have one chance, and only one chance, at this. "Are you going to help me or not?" Ratchet finally asked.  
Wheeljack swallowed. He pulled the tablet closer to him, his optics darting over the scientific research notes that were years old, too old for any practical purpose. Images of Sideswipe flashed over his processor, cold and still, paralyzed and dying, and then from before, when he was alive, vibrant and happy and playing with Prowler. Prowler… giggling and oblivious that he was losing one of his parents. What was the limit? Where was the risk? What was risked more? The future or the now?  
Wheeljack offlined his optics as he inhaled deeply, but he was nodding as he onlined his optics and stared at Ratchet. "Yes I'll help you, Ratchet," he whispered.  
Ratchet nodded once. "Go get Sunstreaker," he barked. "We need to talk to him."

***

Sunstreaker leaned forward in the chair in Ratchet's office, bracing his forearms on his knees as he stared at the floor. Ratchet sat at his desk, staring hard at Sunstreaker, one hand on the tablet he had slid across the desktop to show Sunstreaker. Wheeljack stood behind Sunstreaker, leaning against the bulkhead with his hands behind him, nervously tapping against the orange plating.  
"You want to what?" Sunstreaker repeated. A soft exhale burst from him, short and dark. "Use Prowler to …"  
"I can take pluripotent spark energy from the neural lines that are growing out of Prowler's spark chamber right now," Ratchet began. "We can lay this spark energy in Sideswipe's systems. The energy can stimulate the regeneration of his neural lines." Ratchet paused, studying Sunstreaker. The yellow twin hadn't moved. "That's what pluripotent spark energy is. It's the developmental spark process of the sparkling. This spark energy is what becomes all the different systems of his body."  
"Isn't this what the Decepticons were doing?" Sunstreaker grunted. He was still staring at the decking. "Using sparklings as power sources?"  
Irritation flared within Ratchet. "They were murdering sparklings in their gestation," he growled. "I'm talking about healing Sideswipe."  
"Will Prowler die?" Sunstreaker finally looked up, his optics searing into Ratchet's.  
Silence. "I can't say it's risk-free," Ratchet finally croaked. He forced his vocalizer to stillness. "This has only ever been an experimental science. It was successful in the past, but that was with cadaver sparklings and isolated systems… Not living mechs."  
"There's a whole heap of risk, Sunny," Wheeljack interjected, glancing at Ratchet. "We can't guarantee anything, not even that this won't hurt Prowler. But we can give Sideswipe a chance."  
Sunstreaker's hands clenched together, squeezing so hard his plating dented. His jaw cables clenched, his denta grinding together. "Sideswipe is dying," Sunstreaker grunted.  
"He doesn't have much longer," Ratchet said softly.  
"This will give him a chance?" Sunstreaker looked up, meeting Ratchet's gaze with burning, agonized optics. All of his pain, all of his fear, all of his loneliness was there, drowning Ratchet. "A chance to live? And to not be paralyzed?"  
Ratchet nodded.  
Sunstreaker's expression crumpled, and his helm turned down, staring at the decking for a long, anguished moment. His hands clenched into fists, trembling and shaking as he struggled for control. Prowler and Sideswipe, his entire life, his world. One for the other, risk them both or lose one for certain. Or lose both. Lose it all. Sunstreaker's spark folded in on itself, collapsing in the black hole of his agony.  
"Do it," Sunstreaker whispered. "Do it."  
Wheeljack exhaled explosively, staring at Sunstreaker. Ratchet nodded and turned back to his computer. "We don't have much time," he said without preamble. "Sideswipe isn't doing well and we need to do this quickly before more of his systems shut down."  
Sunstreaker nodded, thought he was still stuck in a blinding haze. "Sideswipe wants to die," he whispered. "He's ready to go."  
Ratchet paused, his mouth open. He closed it, then turned to Sunstreaker. "I think I can have everything ready by tomorrow evening." He tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. "How about then?"  
Sunstreaker looked as if he had just sentenced both his brother and sparkling to death. He paled, and his optics faded offline as he nodded, very, very slowly.  
Ratchet nodded back and Sunstreaker stood, stumbling out of his office and back to their surgical ward. Wheeljack watched him go, then turned and stared at Ratchet.  
"You're furious at Sideswipe for choosing Sunstreaker over Prowler, Ratchet," Wheeljack said softly, slowly. "But didn't you just ask Sunstreaker the same question?"  
Ratchet slowly twisted, staring back at Wheeljack for a long moment.

***

The next day, Sunstreaker was nothing but twisted circuits and nervous wires, and he snapped and growled at Ratchet all day long as the medic prepped for the surgery. Sideswipe stayed blessedly offline, and Ratchet started slowly sedating him around the midday, keeping him under.  
The afternoon was spent detailing scans of Prowler and trying to map every system, every developing neural bundle, and every pathway of his growing circuits. Sunstreaker held Prowler as Ratchet started the lengthy, invasive scans. Halfway through, Ratchet paused, picking up on Sunstreaker's racing engine and surging spark. Sunstreaker's plating was nearly vibrating from the frantic, nervous energy within him.  
"Want a sedative?" Ratchet peered at Sunstreaker carefully.  
Sunstreaker shook his helm and glowered at the medic, then shifted Prowler in his arms. "Hurry up," he grumbled.  
Wheeljack headed to the Rec room for energon for the three of them and ended up spilling his processor to Hound when the tracker caught him shaking and trembling. He told him everything – the risky surgery, Ratchet's hope that it would cure Sideswipe, the risk that they could lose it all. Sunstreaker's decision. Hound had listened with a steadily horrified expression, and when Wheeljack was through, Hound had collapsed against the table behind him, leaning back with wide optics as he gripped the table's edge. Wheeljack fled.  
Finally, and in no time at all, it was time to begin the surgery.  
Wheeljack gently took Prowler from Sunstreaker's arms. Prowler was giggling up at Wheeljack , distracted by his audial fins as Wheeljack slid the tiny needle full of sedatives into Prowler's neck.  
Sunstreaker's hands clenched into fists as he watched, and his jaw cables squeezed tight. Wheeljack passed Prowler back to Sunstreaker and Sunstreaker rocked his sparkling as the sedatives pulled him under. Prowler dropped offline gazing up into Sunstreaker's faceplates.  
Slowly, Wheeljack took Prowler back. Sunstreaker's arms lingered around his sparkling, and his hands drifted across his plating as Wheeljack pulled him free and carried him away. Sunstreaker tried to follow him into the surgical suite in the back, but Ratchet stopped him, one hand on his chestplates.  
"Sunny, you can't stay for this one." Ratchet swallowed, a deep apology in his optics.  
"Ratchet-" Sunstreaker growled. "I'm not-"  
"No, Sunstreaker." Ratchet shook his helm. "I can't risk it. I can't have you in here. I can't risk the distraction."  
"That's my family," Sunstreaker snarled. He was shaking, a half step from tearing Ratchet in two. "That is my family."  
"I know." Ratchet nodded, biting the inside of his cheek to stop his own pain from exploding in his spark. "And that's why I am asking you to please give me the space to do this."  
A long battle of wills played out, desperate optics staring into each other's gaze. Sunstreaker finally turned away, snarling and growling and gasping around his pain, and he stumbled against the bulkhead, leaning one hand against the wall as he struggled to breathe.  
"Sunny…" Ratchet stared at the yellow twin's helm. He swallowed, hard. "I'll do everything I can. I'll do my best for your family." Ratchet lingered, wanting to say more, but he couldn't find the words. He turned and disappeared into the surgical suite, locking the door behind him.  
Sunstreaker leaned against the bulkhead with blazing optics as heaving, raging pants exploded from him. His engine was racing, surging, and he had to get out of there. It was too cramped, too claustrophobic, and the thought that his family was possibly dying one bulkhead away was too much for him.  
Sunstreaker fled, lurching out of the medbay and into the corridor. He stopped short, staring out as the crew stood waiting, looking back at him with warm, worried optics.  
Smokescreen stepped forward, both hands reaching for Sunstreaker's trembling arms. He squeezed on his elbows. "We heard," he said simply. He nodded. "We're here with you." Smokescreen squeezed on Sunstreaker's plating again and stepped back, leaning against the bulkhead in the corridor outside the medbay. Hound was next to him, and Blaster, Mirage, Perceptor, the Aerialbots, Inferno, Red Alert, Bluestreak, and even Ironhide, gruffly standing apart with his arms crossed over his chestplates. Even Jazz, leaning against the corridor and away from the mechs.  
Even Cliffjumper.  
Sunstreaker's trembling finally overcame him, and he lurched toward Smokescreen. Smokescreen's hands were on him in an instant, helping him lean against the bulkhead and then slide down until he was sitting on the deck in a graceless, shivering slump. Hands pressed into him, squeezing on his shoulders.  
"We're here for you." Hound, trying to smile.  
"Always got your back, mech." Blaster, nodding around a sad smile.  
"You aren't alone." Mirage, next to Hound.  
"I've never seen stronger sparks than you and your brother's." Perceptor.  
Sunstreaker's vision faded to static as he pitched forward, and finally, surrounded by the friends he'd never known he had, he let his walls come crashing down. He sobbed, electric static and keening moans pouring from him. This was it. He could lose it all, everything, this afternoon. The fear, the worry, the anticipation, was killing him, and he didn't think his spark could stand it. He needed his brother at his side. He needed Prowler in his arms. What was he doing?  
A hand squeezed his shoulder. "We're here with you, Sunny."  
The crew stayed by his side for all the long hours of the surgery. Not one mech left. More came.  
Finally, the medbay doors slid open, and Ratchet, exhausted and spark-weary, stood before Sunstreaker.


	11. Chapter 11

The medbay was deathly silent.  
Prowl rolled his helm – gingerly, in case it fell off – to one side, resting his cheek against the cool metal of the medberth. His optics searched for Ratchet, drifting across the dim, empty medbay.  
Nothing.  
Frowning, Prowl shifted, trying to rise. He groaned, his optics offlining as he slowly pushed himself up. He could probably count all the gears and systems he had based on how many were aching. Prowl pressed one hand to his helm as his optics dimmed, flickering. His processor was slow and groggy, and Prowl could still feel the lingering effects of the sedatives Ratchet liked to use in his system.  
"Hello?" His vocalizer was scratchy, and Prowl coughed after he spoke. "Ratchet?"  
Frowning, Prowl was about to try to get up, try to slide from the berth surface and stand on his unsteady, shaking feet when the door to the rear surgical suite slid open and Wheeljack emerged. Prowl's optics flew to the engineer, growing wide and bright with shock as he stared at Wheeljack's plating. His optics dragged up and down. Dread pooled in the base of Prowl's tank.  
"Wheeljack…" Prowl swallowed around clenching gears, and his optics briefly met Wheeljack's surprised glance before snapping back to Wheeljack's energon-covered hands and arms. Energon stained the front of his body, coating his chestplates, his hands, and all the way up to his elbows. Energon had even splashed onto his blast mask. That much energon out of a mech was never a good sign. "What happened?"  
Wheeljack jumped as Prowl spoke, not expecting the SIC to be online. He nearly dropped the rag he held in his hands, working over his fingers to try and scrub as much energon off as possible. His optics flicked back to the surgical suite, but he looked away quickly. He crossed the medbay, moving to Prowl's medberth. "We just finished a surgery." Wheeljack examined Prowl's terminal readouts, but he didn't touch anything, and didn't touch Prowl.  
Up close, the energon covering Wheeljack was even bolder, and it cast a bright contrast against Wheeljack's white and silver body. The fluorescent magenta shimmered in the low light, nearly glowing off of the engineer's hands and arms. Prowl couldn't tear his optics away.  
"Who?" he croaked.  
Wheeljack frowned and peered at one of Prowl's terminal readouts. "Your spark energy is still irregular, Prowl. You took a lot of radiation out there." Wheeljack wouldn't meet Prowl's optics.  
"Wheeljack, who?" Prowl's gears clenched again, harder.  
Exhaling, Wheeljack finally turned and looked right at Prowl. His optics were dark, the edges lined with doubt and guilt. "Sideswipe," he whispered. Static hung in his vocalizer.  
Prowl's vents shuddered. "Is he…" He swallowed, not able to finish. The red twin had come to mean so much to him, even in such a short time. He'd been one of Prowl's first true friends, and, along with his brother, the mechs had been the catalysts for all the change in Prowl's life. Sideswipe's happy, smiling faceplates defined family in Prowl's processor. Eight months was too soon for it all to be over.  
Before Wheeljack could answer, the surgical suite doors slid open again and Ratchet emerged. He had done a better job of wiping down the energon from his frame, and he threw the dirty, soaked rag hard against the bulkhead. Heaving a heavy sigh, Ratchet's optics dimmed, and his trembling hands clenched into fists at his sides.  
Wheeljack and Prowl stared. "Ratchet…" Wheeljack tried to get the medic's attention.  
Ratchet brushed him off. "I gotta go get Sunny," Ratchet growled. He didn't spare them a glance as he shuffled toward the medbay doors. Exhaustion leached from him, sagging his joints, and his hands only barely hid their trembling in his closed fists.  
Prowl's optics searched Wheeljack's, begging for an answer.

***

The medbay doors slid open, and finally, Ratchet emerged and stood before Sunstreaker.  
Sunstreaker clambered to his feet, using the wall behind him to help him stand. Smokescreen laid one hand on his elbow gingerly, guiding him as the yellow twin stepped forward and stared Ratchet down, waiting for the medic to speak.  
Not a mech breathed.  
Sunstreaker searched Ratchet's optics, looking for something. Anything. Any of the frustration that came with treating the twins in the past, well-worn and comfortable on the medic. Any satisfaction, the mark of a job well done. Any guilt, which Ratchet could never, ever hide. Ever.  
"We're through with the surgery, Sunstreaker," Ratchet said gruffly. He swallowed, the gears in his throat rising and falling slowly. "Prowler is doing alright. He's a tough little sparkling." That at least garnered a few weak smiles from the crew and knowing looks thrown in Sunstreaker's direction.  
"Sideswipe?" Sunstreaker forced himself to ask.  
Sighing, Ratchet's hand rose, rubbing over his faceplates. His fingers were shaking. "We won't know until he wakes up." Ratchet paused. "If he wakes up." His mouth moved soundlessly, searching for words as Sunstreaker's optics blazed. "There was a lot of neural damage, Sunny. Damage we didn't even know about until we were in there." The rest of the crew had faded away, and all Ratchet could see was Sunstreaker and his quietly-devastated gaze, pinning Ratchet back with their fractured, tattered hope. "He's in a coma right now. Prowler's spark energy is in his systems. Sideswipe's systems didn't reject the transferred spark energy, but they haven't started to integrate yet, either. We're watching and waiting."  
Sunstreaker wasn't looking at Ratchet anymore. He was looking through him, through the medbay doors, trying to bore a sightline straight to his brother. "I want to see them." Sunstreaker wasn't sure if he was speaking or growling.  
Nodding silently, Ratchet stepped aside and motioned Sunstreaker into the medbay. Quiet murmurs of support, wordless noises from the crew, followed Sunstreaker as he passed Ratchet and disappeared beyond the doors.  
Ratchet gazed over the crew, his optics picking out all the faces he saw. He grunted and finally smiled weakly at their show of support. He shook his helm immediately after and waved one hand at the lot of them. "You're cluttering the corridor," he grumbled. His words were weakened by the lingering smile stretched across his face.  
Smiling back, the crew quietly dispersed, moving off in pairs and small groups and talking softly amongst each other. Worried glances were tossed back toward the medbay and to Ratchet. The medic was still waiting outside, reluctant to return to the living morgue that had become his medbay.  
Ironhide's optics lingered on Ratchet as the crew slowly cleared out. He stayed, waiting in the hallway with his arms crossed over his chest and a dark scowl on his faceplates.  
The last of the crew disappeared down the corridor. Ratchet tried to smile at Ironhide, but his exhaustion ruined the effect. It came out more like a grimace. "Hey 'Hide."  
"You look like cold rusted slag." Ironhide frowned and pushed himself off the bulkhead, then walked slowly to Ratchet. His optics dragged over the medic's frame. "You really do look like frag."  
That finally brought a smile to Ratchet's face. "That's why I like you, Ironhide," he quipped. Sighing, his cheerful expression faded a moment later. "We've got a lot of work to do in there. "  
"Take a breather," Ironhide said instantly. His arms uncrossed and his hands rose, gently gripping Ratchet's upper arms. "You're no use if you fall over from exhaustion and processor crash. Take a breather and drink a cube."  
Ratchet's optics faded offline as he exhaled, long and hard. Finally he nodded, a tight jerk of his helm. "I could really use a cube," he conceded. "But I can't take a break. Not when they're –"  
Ironhide gently pushed him back toward the medbay. "Go. I'll go get one for you." He smiled ruefully. "'Kay?"  
Smiling again, Ratchet nodded. "Sounds like a plan." His optics met Ironhide's, warm and thankful, and edged with a cautious, curious question.  
Ironhide nodded and stepped back, dropping his hands from Ratchet's plating. He grunted and waved Ratchet back toward the medbay, one optic ridge raised. Ratchet chuckled and turned, palming open the medbay doors, and he slipped in with a small smile thrown back over his shoulder toward Ironhide.  
Ironhide waited until the doors slid shut on Ratchet's smile before he exhaled, sighing long. He tilted his helm back, his optics staring at the orange plating of the bulkhead above. _What are you doing, Old Mech?_ He shook his helm. _Being an all-slagged idiot, that's what._  
Ironhide argued with himself all the way to the Rec room.

***

Sunstreaker cradled Prowler close, his hands stroking over every inch of his sparkling's plating. His hands cupped Prowler's small helm, fingers tracing the curves and lines of his tender cheeks, his tiny lips, and the offline sockets of his dark optics. Sunstreaker had to touch his sparkling, hold him close, feel every inch of his warm, perfect little body. Prowler's arms and legs were curled into his chest, little hands balled into loose fists, and his offline body perfectly snuggled against Sunstreaker's chestplates and shoulder.  
His optics blazing, Sunstreaker's hand stroked down Prowler's helm. He tried to calm the shrieking panic that had taken over his spark as he'd waited for Ratchet. Prowler was in his arms again. His sparkling was alive. He was back in Sunstreaker's arms.  
Of course, there were still monitors on Prowler's body, a mag sensor stuck to his upper chest, and a line for energon and the tiniest amount of sedatives dripped into a spike line in Prowler's neck. There was also a deep scar edged through Prowler's chestplates, stitched together with an electro-regenerator on the lowest setting, and the roughened scar edges pushed against the static bandage lying over the center of Prowler's small chestplates. Sunstreaker's hand floated over the bandage, his fingers skirting the edges of Prowler's scar. Ratchet had cut all the way into Prowler's spark chamber.  
Sunstreaker's tightened his arms around his sparkling, drawing Prowler closer to him. Prowler's face nuzzled his neck, and Sunstreaker could feel the small exhales from Prowler's vents ghost over his plating.  
It was only a tiny breath, but those small vents, those tiny exhales, were one right thing in a sea of wrong.  
Sunstreaker stared over his brother's body, resting on the medberth. He was still offline, still unmoving and silent and far too still. Sunstreaker would have thought that nothing had happened, save for the static bandage covering his brother's exposed chest and open neck. His optics drifted down, trying to look beneath the murky, heavy plastic of the static bandage, but the opaque sheeting was stretched tight and sealed to his brother's chest, and he couldn't see a thing. His brother's chest was dark, and not even the faint light from his spark chamber fluttered out through the bandage.  
Had anything been accomplished? Had Ratchet's plan worked? Sunstreaker watched his brother. It had only been a hope, a faint hope, but it had been something. Was it all for naught?  
"We won't know anything for a few days." Wheeljack leaned against the doorframe to the surgical suite, drying his hands. He'd wisely washed himself down and was no longer covered in Sideswipe and Prowler's energon. His audials faded offline as his gaze shifted from Sideswipe's inert body to Sunstreaker's pained gaze. His audials lit up again, briefly flashing as he spotted Prowler curled up in Sunstreaker's arms.  
Prowl appeared behind Wheeljack, limping as he gaped within the twins' surgical suite. His optics flared, white lines of hurt shock streaking through blue, as he spotted Sideswipe. His vents stuttered when his optics shifted to Prowler – and to the medical lines and sensors still stretching from his body. "Sunstreaker…" he whispered. "Primus…"  
Sunstreaker finally moved, turning back to Prowl. He frowned, clenching his jaw cables. "What could I have done?" he grunted. Swallowing once, Sunstreaker pulled out the chair next to his brother's berth and collapsed heavily into the seat. One hand was still stroking Prowler's helm, soft and gentle as Sunstreaker sighed and leaned back.  
He would stay and wait until his brother onlined, or until the very end.

***

Ratchet's hands were still trembling, still shaking as he held them out in front of him. He was trying to calm down, trying to quiet his rushing systems, but his body wouldn't listen. Sighing, Ratchet leaned back in his office chair and offlined his optics. One shaking hand rose, covering his faceplates and rubbing at his forehelm.  
"Maybe you should just hit the berth for a few, Ratch'." Ironhide glared from Ratchet's office doorway. He was hovering at the threshold, watching the medic with two cubes of energon in his hands.  
Ratchet snorted and let his hand fall back to the desktop. He quirked an optic ridge toward Ironhide. "Is that an offer?"  
Ironhide froze momentarily as he stalked toward Ratchet, comically halting midstride with his optics wide and mouth dropped open. An instant later, the shock was gone and he'd wiped the surprise from his faceplates. A scowl replaced the shock, and he threw Ratchet a long suffering glare as he settled into the visitors chair in front of Ratchet's desk and slid the cube across for the medic. "Now I know you're out of your processor."  
Ratchet chuckled as he pulled the energon cube close. His hands were still trembling, fingers shaking against the cube. "Thank you," he said softly. He rolled the energon cube in his hands, trying to settle his systems.  
Ironhide stared. He'd never seen Ratchet's hands tremble so much. "Ratch'," he started, frowning down at his hands. He jutted his chin at Ratchet. "What's wrong with your hands?"  
"They didn't shake like this during the surgery!" Ratchet snapped back, instantly vicious. He glared at Ironhide.  
"I didn't fragging say they did!"  
Exhaling, Ratchet pitched forward, curling over his desk and his trembling hands. "I can't fragging calm my systems down," he sighed. "Everything is racing." Ratchet held out one hand. It hovered in the air over the desk. His plating was nearly vibrating.  
Ironhide chewed on the inside of his lipplate. "Well, slag, Ratch'. Look at what you just did." His hand motioned through the air, waving toward the medbay. "You'd have to have bearings the size of the Ark to not be effected by all that." He paused. "You operated on a sparkling."  
Ratchet leaned back slowly, sagging into his desk chair. "I just operated on Sunny's entire family," Ratchet grumbled. "Primus, I could have taken everything away from him." Ratchet's hands trembled harder around the cube he gripped too-tight.  
"You gave Sideswipe a fighting chance to live." Ironhide shifted, and he pushed his cube across the desktop. "Those two hellions have been living on borrowed time for years. Borrowed time that you gave them. If there's anyone that can give Sideswipe another chance to live, it's you." Ironhide's voice ground out over his gears, thick and growling.  
"It was a desperate gamble." Ratchet's optics were wide. "I have … no idea if this will work."  
"You tried. When everyone else had given up, you kept going. I'm slagging proud of you, Ratchet." Ironhide shifted in his seat, not looking at the medic. "Slagging proud. Those twins would be dead a hundred times over if it weren't for you." Ironhide's vocalizer was growling again, not used to speaking so soft and candidly. "…I never thanked you for that." He swallowed, looking down.  
Ratchet was silent. "I know you love the twins like your own sparklings."  
Slowly, Ironhide nodded. He swallowed again, staring down at his hands. "I know Sides. He wouldn't want to live like that."  
Ratchet winced. Sunstreaker had told him – in a shaking, growled desperation – of Sideswipe's whispered plea to die.  
Ironhide pressed on, clearing his vocalizers and grinding his gears. "You're the only medic in the galaxy that could have given him a chance like this, Ratch'." He coughed. "Thank you." Finally, his optics rose, meeting Ratchet's.  
"At what price, Ironhide?" Ratchet peered back, his optics pleading for an answer. "Did I have any right asking Sunny for this choice? Between his sparkling and his brother?"  
"If you could have taken spark energy from my old spark, Ratch', I would have given you everything you needed for Sideswipe." Ironhide shifted again, clearing his throat. "That's what family is." He paused. "That's what all that … love slag is." His fingers scratched over his leg plating, picking at loose paint.  
Wheeljack's words echoed through Ratchet's processor. _"If it were you out there, I'd have done the exact same thing."_ His spark leapt, lodging itself in his throat. His hands were still shaking. What did Ratchet really know about love?  
"Hide, I-"  
Wheeljack appeared in Ratchet's doorway, looking as exhausted as Ratchet felt. "Oh hey guys," he said, his helm tilting to the side as his audials flashed. "Great idea to bring some cubes." Wheeljack shuffled into the office and threw himself down in the second visitors chair next Ironhide in front of Ratchet's desk. His optics searched Ratchet's desktop. "Did you get any more?"  
Ironhide shifted again. He wouldn't look at Wheeljack. "Uhh, sorry, 'Jack. Forgot to bring you one."  
Wheeljack shrugged, exhausted but unfazed. "That's okay, 'Hide." He reached out and lightly punched Ironhide's shoulder, quirking a small, friendly blur of his audials toward the older mech. Ironhide grunted, but still didn't turn to look at Wheeljack.  
Ironhide flashed a quick, slightly panicked look toward Ratchet.  
Sighing, Wheeljack leaned forward. His optics drifted over Ratchet's frame, taking in the exhaustion, the nerves, the post-surgery jitters that always befell the medic. They used to spend hours in Ratchet's office, talking about everything as Ratchet came down from his racing systems and nervous panic. A small smile curved at Wheeljack's lips behind his blast mask, lost in the familiarity of the moment, if only for the moment. He sighed again. "How are you, Ratch'?"  
Ratchet wasn't looking at Wheeljack. He was looking anywhere, everywhere else. His optics flashed, meeting Ironhide's. Licking his lips, Ratchet shuffled the tablets on his desktop, slowly. "I'm alright, Wheeljack."  
Wheeljack nodded, his audials flaring briefly. "That's good. That's good." He stretched out his legs, trying to relax. His systems were exhausted, but his joints were hyped up. His leg bounced, jiggling and tapping against the decking. "What are you doing here, 'Hide?" He turned, flashing his audials at Ironhide, warm and friendly.  
Ironhide stared at Ratchet. He shifted again, twisting slightly away from Wheeljack. He said nothing.  
Ratchet stared back at Ironhide. He could see the replay of all of their conversations in Ironhide's optics, all their words thrown back and forth while repairing Skyfire and arguing about Wheeljack. Ironhide had wanted to personally rearrange Wheeljack's circuits, thanks to their breakup, and then… Ratchet's optics narrowed, and his lips thinned together.  
"Something you need, Wheeljack?" Ratchet coolly twisted toward Wheeljack, fixing him with a stern, cold glare.  
Wheeljack's audials flared as he stared at Ratchet, his optics wide. Swiveling, Wheeljack looked at Ironhide.  
Ironhide's helm slowly turned to Wheeljack. He stared back, impassive.  
Oh. Wheeljack whirled back, his optics darting over the two energon cubes on Ratchet's desk and the sidelong glances Ironhide and Ratchet were throwing each other. Oh. Wheeljack's audials blipped, barely onlining before fading. Ratchet and Ironhide had been on the road together for over two months with Prime. What had happened out there?  
Wheeljack's optics flashed between Ironhide and Ratchet once more. Both mechs were staring back at him, silent. Dismissive. He was intruding.  
He suddenly had a pretty good idea what had happened out on the road.  
Exhaling, Wheeljack pushed himself to his feet. "No, no," he stuttered. He waved his hands, motioning for Ironhide and Ratchet to stay seated. Neither moved a micron. "No, I'm fine. I'm… sorry to interrupt. I didn't realize…" Wheeljack was backing out of Ratchet's office, moving as quickly as he could, and he stumbled, tripping over his nervous feet. "I didn't realize you two were… talking." He hit the edge of the doorframe. Wheeljack grimaced, his audial fins flaring, and his optics met Ratchet's.  
Ratchet stared back. He forced himself to keep still, to not show any emotion.  
"I'm sorry," Wheeljack whispered, shaking his helm. He disappeared through the doorframe, shuffling swiftly out of the medbay.  
Silence filled Ratchet's office. Ratchet stared after Wheeljack, watching the space he had fled. The flash of Wheeljack's audials lingered in his optics.  
"Well, that couldn't have been more awkward," Ironhide grunted. He glared at Ratchet. "You and 'Jack talk at all 'bout your…" Ironhide trailed off.  
Ratchet shook his helm. He met Ironhide's gaze slowly. "A lot has changed since I left. I'm not sure who he is anymore." _Who is this mech is that's speaking like Wheeljack, but playing with sparklings and telling me he loves me more than life itself?_  
Ironhide looked away. He scratched the back of his helm, then pushed on one of his tight neck cables, deep in his neck. "Ratch', would you ever wanna get out of here sometime? Go for a drive?" Ironhide's optics flicked back to Ratchet's. "You and me?" He grimaced, flinching.  
Ratchet smiled. "Yes," he said simply.  
Ironhide groaned, throwing his helm back. "You couldn't just reject an old foolish mech, could you Ratch'?" He shook his helm and threw a long-suffering glare Ratchet's way. "This might just be the most foolish thing I've ever done." He peered at Ratchet, giving him a once over.  
"Oh, you've done a lot of foolish things, Ironhide," Ratchet said, a friendly lilt falling back into his voice that hadn't been there in a long while. "And I get to be the most foolish?" He smirked at the older mech.  
"Absolutely." Ironhide finally managed a grin back at the medic. "I want…" he sighed, scowling again. "I want to keep what we have, Ratch'. I don't want to jack this up."  
"Let's just keep doing this then." Ratchet smiled at Ironhide as he snaked one hand across the desktop. He reached for Ironhide, and one red finger stretched over Ironhide's scuffed, dark wrist, tracing the joint.  
Ironhide inhaled deeply, glaring at Ratchet. The medic was smirking at him, but his hands weren't shaking any longer. "I'm serious you know," Ironhide grumbled.  
Ratchet pulled back, removing his hands. "I know."  
"Well, about that too." Ironhide scoffed and reached for Ratchet's hand. He traced the medic's palm with his fingertip. "But I meant Sideswipe. You did good, Ratch'. Fraggin' proud of ya."  
Ratchet offlined his optics and stared down at the desktop. His hand curled around Ironhide's, squeezing his fingers. "I just pray he'll be alright."

***

Over two weeks had passed since the space battle. Prowl couldn't believe he'd been offline for that long. He'd missed so much. Sideswipe's worsening condition, the decision to operate on Prowler. What a time to online. He shook his helm and kept walking, trudging down the corridor.  
The rescue of the other shuttle. Prowl remembered watching Mirage and Prime's shuttle plunge through the atmosphere in a ball of fire. He hadn't known if they had survived, or if they had crashed, or anything at all.  
The state of their alliance with the humans. They'd terminated the alliance before the battle when they'd discovered the theft of their engine designs and technology. The humans had been working against them for years, duplicitous and conniving, and then had cut them out from all aide and assistance when their secret was about to be exposed. No matter the lives at risk. No matter the cost to the Autobots. Were they ever aligned with the Decepticons? Or was it passive resistance against the Autobots? Whatever it was, it was wrong, and Prowl hadn't seen Prime so worked up over their alliance in all the time he'd been on Earth.  
The fate of his and Jazz's sparkling.  
Two weeks. Two weeks offline. Jazz had told him in no uncertain terms that he was terminating their sparkling the moment the battle was over and the Decepticons were taken care of. He must have already done so. He must have already terminated their sparkling. Did Jazz have the procedure in the medbay while he was unconscious? Only a few berths away?  
Prowl knew it was coming. He knew what Jazz had decided. Still, the pain settled deep in his spark, impenetrable and raw. Their sparkling was gone. And there wouldn't ever be another one. They were through. Prowl exhaled, turning and leaning his helm against the bulkhead as he slowly made his way down the corridor. He just wished they could have talked.  
Swallowing, Prowl pushed himself back and kept walking. He had to keep going. He had to press on. Prime was right. He'd allowed himself to become distracted, become ensnared in his emotions. He'd fallen apart – entirely – in the battle. Emotions had swelled within him, cutting off all logical thought. Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Jazz. All the permutations and outcomes that could have happened, all his twisted, conflicted feelings about everything. His spark, working against his processor, working against reality. He'd wanted everything to be different.  
He couldn't dwell on it any longer. What was done was done. He had to move on. He had to.  
Prowl padded into the turbolift and keyed for the Command Deck. Ratchet told him to head for his quarters, get more recharge.  
There was no way. Prowl couldn't power down now if his very life depended on it. And especially not in the same berth that he and Jazz had made love in, had made their sparkling in. No. Not now. Not while it was fresh.  
He needed to get back to work. He needed to be back at Prime's side, helping him sort out the fine mess they'd all wound themselves into. Angry, deceptive allies and no where to evacuate. Something had to be done.  
The turbolift doors slid open, depositing Prowl at the back of the Command Deck. He stepped out, looking around. It was deceptively quiet, but tension hung in the air. The far bank of monitors, normally turned to the humans' news feeds, were black and silent. Prowl had no doubt about the contents of the news.  
"Prowl." Prime's voice, warm and welcoming, boomed over the Command Deck. Prowl turned, and there was Prime, striding toward him with one hand outstretched. It fell to his shoulder, squeezing. "Good to see you out of the medbay." Prime's hand squeezed again, then released. "I knew you would pull through."  
"Thank you, Prime." Prowl smiled up at his leader, though it was weak around the edges.  
Prime caught the fading light. "Are you ready to be back on duty?"  
"Yes sir," Prowl said quickly. "I need to be here." He held Prime's gaze.  
A low engine rumble pushed from Prime. He nodded. "Let's move to my office." He gestured for Prowl to precede him across the deck, and they both slipped inside and shut the door. Prowl perched on the edge of one of Prime's guest chairs. His doorwings sagged, betraying his exhaustion.  
Prime looked him over. "When I said that you needed to focus, Prowl, I didn't mean for you to try to fry yourself on radiation." His words were gentle and his optics were kind. "You scared me."  
Prowl smiled self-deprecatingly. "Someone had to do it."  
Nodding, Prime sat in his chair behind his desk. "You saved a lot of lives." A long moment passed, silent. Prowl never looked away, but his optics shifted, darkening, and he flinched under the heavy scrutiny.  
"What are you and Jazz going to do?" Prime finally asked. "I don't know if I should be offering congratulations or condolences."  
Prowl's vents shuddered. "Condolences," he breathed, looking away. "Jazz was firm. No sparkling. We're… He's terminating." Prowl shook his helm. "It was an accident."  
Another low engine rumble, followed by silence. "This is not what you wanted, is it?"  
Slowly, Prowl shook his helm again.  
Prime leaned forward, reaching across the desk to grip Prowl's arm. "You have my deepest condolences, Prowl." He squeezed gently, and Prowl met his gaze with melting, fractured optics.  
"I just… I just need to… move on, Prime." Prowl stuttered, forcing his vocalizer to grind through his words. "I need to accept this and move forward."  
"I understand." Prime let go of Prowl with another small squeeze of reassurance. "Would a new work project be something that could help divert your processor?"  
Prowl smiled, again weak, but his optics were full of gratitude. "That's exactly what I need, Prime."  
"We have a lot of work to do with our alliance. The humans are furious about their satellites and space program. I'm furious about their lies and deceit, and their blatant theft. The Decepticons have vanished." Prime nodded as Prowl quirked his optic ridges, questioning. "Yes, they're gone. They blasted off into deep space, and there hasn't been a trace of them since. It's only been two weeks, but they seem to have left Earth behind."  
"Good riddance," Prowl spat.  
"Indeed." Prime nodded. "However, our treaty with the humans was specific to protecting them from the Decepticon threat. With the Decepticon's gone, they are well within their rights to demand that we leave."  
"But we have no means of leaving." Prowl frowned. "And nowhere to go."  
"Hardly the humans' concern. Wheeljack is rebuilding the shuttles, and if we must, we will abandon the Ark and take to the stars in a convoy."  
Prowl grimaced. The Ark was their home. It had been their home since they'd left Cybertron. He couldn't imagine leaving it behind, and especially not to live in a cramped battle shuttle, the mechs stacked right on top of each other. "That would be a disaster, Prime."  
"On multiple levels." They didn't have enough energon for a trip that could take them to the nearest habitable system. "We need to rebuild this alliance."  
Sighing, Prowl nodded. His own feelings toward the humans were complicated, but logic clearly dictated that they needed to remain on Earth. It was a stable base of operations, provided for their energon needs, and was – mostly – peaceful and friendly. It had also become a second home. "The mechs don't want to leave either. This is home to so many of them."  
"More so than Cybertron. Some of our younger mechs don't remember anything but war." Prime's optics darkened, growing dim. Prime sighed, and he looked back at Prowl. "For one of us, this is the only home he's known." Prime held Prowl's gaze. "The humans are greatly distressed about our growing population."  
"Prowler?" Prowl frowned. "Our growing population of one?"  
"I suspect that there will be more sparklings on the way," Prime rumbled. "We were at peace for six months. The mechs have started dreaming again." Prime nodded toward Prowl. "Living life. Following dreams and hopes and exploring paths not open to them during the war." He hesitated. "I was not surprised to hear there was another sparkling on the way… Only that it was yours and Jazz's."  
Prowl looked away. "That's not happening. Our population is only plus-one."  
"We still need to address this for the future." Prime beckoned to Prowl, drawing his gaze back to him. "I will be more than happy to take care of these negotiations, Prowl. I do not want you to do anything you are uncomfortable with. However, I want you to be prepared for the humans' concerns, should you venture out to the human media."  
Prowl nodded stiffly. "I appreciate your warnings."  
Prime nodded back and tried to give Prowl a reassuring smile. It was hard to smile at Prowl, though, when he was so dejected. His doorwings were completely slumped, hanging loose off his backplates. His optics were dim and underpowered. "I truly am sorry that you and Jazz didn't work out, Prowl," Prime said softly. "I was very happy for you both."  
Looking down at his hands, Prowl smiled weakly. "I was too."  
Another moment, long and thick, passed in silence. "Let's go study the intel the humans stole from us," Prime finally suggested. "Would you be up to letting me help you? I am sure I can blunder a few things, make a mess of your logic?" He smiled.  
"I'd love some data to crunch." Prowl nodded. His smile turned genuine, gratitude pouring from him, and he met Prime's gaze with brighter optics. "And a friend to help me."

***

Smokescreen titled his helm, nearly pressing his audial to Bluestreak's door. Yep, there it was. He could hear the muffled sound of Bleustreak's TV playing within. Perfect. Bluestreak was alone. He knocked on the metal door, gentle raps that echoed on the other side.  
"What?" Bluestreak shouted from within his quarters. "Who is it?"  
Choosing to answer both questions with his presence, Smokescreen palmed open the door. Instantly, his ID flashed within Bluestreak's quarters as his hand hit the palm pad to announce his arrival, and Smokescreen heard Bluestreak's soft curse as the doors parted. Sighing, Smokescreen stepped into Bluestreak's quarters.  
The lights were dim, and Bluestreak had ensconced himself on his couch before the television screen hanging on his bulkhead. He didn't look at Smokescreen as the doorwinger slipped into his quarters. He crossed his arms over his chestplates and frowned, glaring at the television.  
Smokescreen glanced at the television screen. A nature program played, a long line of ants marching along a blade of grass, zoomed in so they filled the entire screen. A low, monotonous voice droned on, describing the march of the ants. Smokescreen turned, quirking an optic ridge at Bluestreak. "Well this is different."  
"All the other stations are just talking about us," Bluestreak grumbled. "How we're evil and how we need to leave. Need to get off the planet." Bluestreak frowned, adjusting his petulantly crossed arms. "They want us out of here."  
Smokescreen nodded slowly. "Yeah, it's gotten pretty bad out there."  
Silence filled Bluestreak's quarters. Smokescreen hung back near the door, watching his friend through the darkness. The different colors of the nature program – now showing leaping dolphins playing in the strong wake of a ship – danced over Bluestreak's silver plating. "How are you doing? Haven't seen you in a few days."  
Bluestreak shrugged. He'd followed the crew to the medbay when Sideswipe and Prowler had their surgery and had waited during the entire procedure. Bluestreak had been hanging near the back, far from Smokescreen, and he spent most of his time watching Sunstreaker.  
He'd thought he'd known Sunstreaker. He had thought, through all the years they had fought together, that he knew who Sunstreaker was. Sunstreaker was gloomy, moody, sharp, and brutal. He didn't care about anyone or anything, and he was selfish. Fragging selfish. Selfish over his brother. So selfish, in fact, that he went and fragged him and had his sparkling. Yep, Bluestreak knew all of that.  
Except… Sunstreaker had never, ever shown the true depth of his spark before. Bluestreak couldn't shake the image of Sunstreaker sobbing, clinging to Smokescreen as he rocked on the medbay floor, crying out for his brother. Or his devastated and destroyed faceplates, his optics burning holes in the medbay doors as he waited the long hours until Ratchet emerged. Bluestreak didn't know what any of that meant, but Smokescreen thought he did.  
Smokescreen was ready to accept the twins. Accept them and their love. He had held Sunstreaker as the yellow twin had sobbed. He was the one who gathered the crew, after Hound's shaky confession of what Wheeljack had spouted off. He was the one who sat by Sunstreaker's side for the entirety of Sideswipe's surgery. Smokescreen was definitely accepting the twins.  
That hurt too much to think about. Far, far too much. Bluestreak shifted on the couch, trying to turn away from Smokescreen. Smokescreen continued to stare at him from across his quarters, not moving.  
"Still no word on Sideswipe," Smokescreen finally said. He watched Bluestreak carefully.  
Bluestreak's optics narrowed as he shrugged. A moment later he swallowed. His processor refused to accept Sideswipe's possibly imminent death. Flat out refused. There was just a ball of static when it came to the twins and to Sideswipe's condition.  
Smokescreen sighed heavily, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat. "Blue, what the slag?" His hands fell to his hips as his doorwings ticked up in irritation. "What the slag is wrong with you? This isn't you!" He pointed at Bluestreak, his tone scathing. "You don't hold grudges, Blue. Not even when someone hurts you. But you're still so mad, Blue! And this wasn't even about you!"  
"They lied to me too," Bluestreak growled. He still wouldn't look at Smokescreen. His anger was seething beneath the surface. It had seized on to the twins and it wasn't letting go.  
"Yeah, but I was in love with Sideswipe!" Smokescreen snapped.  
Bluestreak winced.  
"I was in love with him and I've forgiven him, Blue. I've forgiven him, and I'm moving on. The whole crew is moving on. They're part of this family and we have to help them. We have to stand together. There's too much other slag out there to not be here for each other." Smokescreen glared at Bluestreak.  
Bluestreak's faceplates had twisted around themselves, bitter and furious. "Yeah, we're just one big happy family, aren't we?" He snorted. "Big ole incest-loving family. Yeah right!" He finally turned and glared at Smokescreen. "Excuse me if I don't want to be with you when you're making a sparkling book for the mech you love so much who had a sparkling with someone else. Oh yeah. His brother."  
Smokescreen groaned through gritted denta as his hands clasped into fists. "I'm not in love with him!" he shouted. "I'm not in love with Sideswipe anymore, Blue! You don't have to keep up this angry friend routine anymore" Bluestreak's optics blazed as his helm whipped around, glaring daggers at Smokescreen. "You don't have to keep being my protector! You don't have to keep holding onto the grudge! You're the only one who is!"  
"Oh, so that's how it is?" Bluestreak jumped to his feet, quick and deadly. His doorwings flared wide, nearly vibrating. "I'm wrong for being your friend? I'm wrong for taking care of you when your spark was broken?" Bluestreak stalked toward Smokescreen. "I'm wrong for –" He cut himself off abruptly, glaring at Smokescreen, their bodies inches apart.  
"That's not what I said!" Smokescreen groaned. "Why do you always have to pick everything apart? I can't even talk to you anymore!"  
"Don't push me!" Bluestreak's vents exhaled, hard and fast, blowing over Smokescreen's plating. "You think you're so smart-"  
"I just want you to try and let go! Quit holding onto this anger!" Smokescreen motioned to Bluestreak, his hand sweeping over the whole of his body, trying to encompass all of his rage.  
"-You think you've got all the answers!" Bluestreak reached out, shoving at Smokescreen's shoulder, trying to get him to back away.  
Smokescreen didn't budge, and he shoved right back. "I'm so fragging pissed off at you-"  
Abruptly, Bluestreak lunged, reaching forward and grabbing Smokescreen's helm with both of his hands. Smokescreen's optics widened, blazing bright with shock, and his doorwings stiffened, rocketing up his backplates. Bluestreak pulled him close, nearly off balancing him, and, without another thought, sealed their lips together in a hungry, demanding kiss. Bluestreak's lips molded over Smokescreen's, sucking and tasting, passionate as they pressed against the shocked-to-stillness body of his friend.  
An instant later, and Bluestreak pushed Smokescreen back, breaking the kiss. Smokescreen stumbled, entirely off balance, and he stared back at Bluestreak with wild, panicked optics.  
Bluestreak wiped the back of his hand across his lips. His optics narrowed. "You think I'm fragging mad at the twins," he hissed. "I'm fragging pissed at you." Bluestreak swallowed, his gears tight. "You're so ready to accept the twins, but you aren't even close to accepting what I am."  
Smokescreen frowned. His mouth dropped open. "Blue… You?" his hand was shaking as his fingers rose, reaching for his lips. "We're the same model… You can't… you can't have feelings for me! It's…"  
"Incestuous," Bluestreak finished with a growl. His optics flared, burning across the darkened room. "Yeah. I know." His vocalizer dropped, growling and ragged. "I'm known for a long, long time how wrong this was, Smokey. And, you know, I was cool with that. I knew I never had a chance. I just wanted to be your friend."  
Bluestreak turned away, turned his back on Smokescreen. His doorwings were vibrating as his hands rose to his hips. His fingers squeezed against his plating. "But then, there came the twins and their little secret. Primus, do you know how fragging mad I was at them for hurting you?" Bluestreak twisted, glaring over his shoulder before turning back around. "I'd have done anything to make you smile again. But there wasn't anything I could do, 'cause you only wanted Sideswipe." Bluestreak exhaled hard as his helm pitched back on his shoulders, glaring at the ceiling. "I've been in love with you for years, Smokes, watching as you fawned over Sideswipe. I'd have plucked the sun from the sky to give to you if it would have made you smile at me the way you smiled at Sideswipe." Bluestreak swallowed and shook his helm. "But it doesn't matter. It's wrong," Bluestreak growled. "And everyone knows it. Whether you're spark-brothers or same-frame, it's wrong."  
Smokescreen stared at Bluestreak's back. His spark was pounding, surging, and his hands were clenching into fists. What had happened to his friend? Who was this mech who spoke like Bluestreak?  
"When everyone knows that it's wrong, I'm fine. I never wanted to change the world!" Bluestreak continued. His voice was rising, edging with the faintest hint of panic. "I've known it was wrong since the moment I fell for you. But!" Bluestreak whirled around, pointing right at Smokescreen. His optics surged as he grinned, wide and dark. "You decided that it would be alright for the twins to be in love. That it was going to be okay. You… understood." Bluestreak spread his hands wide and shook his helm. He exhaled, his optics narrowing. "But you're never going to 'understand' me. You won't ever feel the same way toward me."  
Bluestreak paused, staring at Smokescreen. Smokescreen didn't move a micron.  
"Why can't it just stay wrong?" Bluestreak whispered. Panic had fully leached into his voice now, and the emotion was crawling up the backs of his optics, spreading throughout his gaze. If everything stayed wrong, if his emotions were criminal and dirty and carnal, then he wouldn't have to endure the pain of Smokescreen's rejection. The question would never have to be asked. Smokescreen would never have to know.  
Oh, but he knew now.  
Smokescreen froze, his optics falling into the depths of Bluestreak's anguished gaze. His hands started shaking, trembles snaking up his arms, and one slowly rose, covering his mouth. Slowly, Smokescreen shook his helm.  
His fingers pressed against his lips. He could still taste Bluestreak on him.  
Smokescreen turned and fled.

***

Jazz heaved a heavy sigh as he stared at the medbay doors. He offlined his optics and counted to three, then palmed his way inside.  
The medbay was quiet and nearly empty. The door to the back surgical ward was open, and the twins were still tucked within their own surgical suite. Jazz could hear the soft beeping of the terminal monitoring Sideswipe's lifesigns. A small part of his spark unclenched. So far, Sideswipe was still online.  
It had been a nervous and tense couple of days since Sideswipe and Prowler's surgery. The crew was on edge, nervous and uncertain and jumping at shadows. The rest of the outside world wasn't helping, and the pressures of the crumbling alliance, the mechs' restrictions to base, and the vitriol spewed by some of the humans all mixed into the pressure cooker that had become the Ark.  
Jazz was not immune to the pressure.  
He'd been monitoring the airwaves and frequencies. So many of the humans were up in arms over Prowler and the assumed Autobots' "breeding programs." "Invasion!" shouted some humans. "Aliens will outnumber us!" It was folly, but Jazz still felt a sharp stab of rage toward the perpetrators.  
After all, he still had their sparkling in his body. What would the humans say if they knew about the possibility of another sparkling?  
_Probably more catastrophe,_ Jazz thought peevishly. _Best to end this now._  
Jazz padded toward Ratchet's office. He moved as quietly as he could, and when he stopped in the doorway, Ratchet never looked up. Jazz cleared his gears, coughing politely to get the medic's attention.  
Ratchet started, his helm twisting to glare at the intruder. His optics widened when he saw it was Jazz. "Jazz," he said with a sigh. He already knew. Ratchet's shoulders sagged. "What can I do for you?" His voice was softer than it had ever been.  
Jazz didn't say anything for a long moment. He held Ratchet's stare, then shifted, leaning against the doorframe. "You know what's up."  
Ratchet nodded slowly. His lips pressed into a thin line, trying to smile at Jazz. He failed. "I'll need to do an exam first, Jazz."  
Jazz nodded, terse. He jerked his helm toward the back of the medbay, out of sight from the door and more private than the rest of the open bay. "Back there okay?"  
Ratchet nodded, gesturing for Jazz to make his way. Ratchet followed behind Jazz slowly, watching as Jazz slowly pushed himself up onto the medberth. His processor flashed back to Sunstreaker a year ago, climbing onto a medberth for the same surgery. Now, Sunstreaker was holding his sparkling in his arms as he watched over Sideswipe. Ratchet shook his helm, trying to shake the memories.  
Jazz wouldn't meet Ratchet's optics as the medic stopped at the side of the medberth. He tilted his neck, giving Ratchet access to his data jack at the back of his neck column. Ratchet carefully plugged in the wireless transmitter and waited for the device to synch up. This would be his first time taking a look at Jazz's live systems. He'd read the reports and seen Wheeljack's scans, but it wasn't the same.  
The terminal beeped, accepting full synchronization with Jazz's systems. The holo-display popped up, showing Jazz's wireframe body spinning in a slow circle. One system was outlined in bold red and pulsing bright. Beneath Jazz's spinning frame was a flashing alert: "Sparkling Gestation Period: Secondary. Full Exam Required."  
Ratchet frowned, peering at the scan closely. Jazz's optics flashed to his face, searing into him. "What is it?" Jazz pressed.  
"Jazz, I need to do some more scans…" Ratchet vocalizer faded away as he stared at the diagram. His fingers pressed against the wireform display's spark chamber, and an exploded view of Jazz's spark systems popped out of the holo-display. A diagram of Jazz's spark chamber appeared, half of it removed, and the bright pulsing light of dual sparks, one smaller than the other and nestled together within his spark chamber, shone bright.  
Ratchet frowned. His fingers flew over the terminal.  
Jazz stared. He hadn't ever actually looked at the medical scans Wheeljack ran. His optics flared beneath his visor.  
"Jazz, lie down," Ratchet grunted. He tapped at the holo-display of Jazz's midsection, then again at the reproductive chamber, pulsing red. Jazz's reproduction chamber popped up on the display, spinning slowly as it showed the faint outline of a curled, massed bundle taking up nearly all the space within.  
Slowly, Jazz lay back on the berth, but his optics twisted to watch the floating display. His spark burned. His hands clenched into fists.  
Ratchet exhaled, and his optics offlined as his hands gripped the edge of the terminal. "Frag," Ratchet whispered, spitting the curse out painfully. "Frag."  
"What is it?" Jazz grunted. The tips of his fingers dug into his palm, nearly leaving craters in his plating.  
Ratchet's optics onlined, full of regret. "Jazz, I am so sorry," the medic started slowly. "I wasn't tracking your systems, and we never knew what your date of sparking was…" Ratchet trailed off, grunting to himself as he shook his helm. He looked away. "You are over halfway through your carrying. You're too far along to terminate, Jazz." Ratchet swallowed. "I'm so sorry."  
For a long moment, Jazz didn't move. He didn't breathe. "What?" he hissed. "What the frag?"  
Ratchet winced. "Jazz, I can't do it."  
"What do you mean you can't do it?" Jazz's optics narrowed, his visor brightening.  
"You are too far along-"  
"What the frag does that mean?" Jazz bellowed. "What the frag does that have to do with anything?"  
"Your sparkling's spark is too large, Jazz!" Ratchet snapped back. "It's drawing too much power from your own spark. Terminating your sparkling involves cutting the sparkline between the protoform and your conjoined sparks. When you're in the primary gestation stage, your spark can absorb the energies of the sparkling's spark. At this stage, it's too dangerous. Extinguishing the sparkling's spark could extinguish yours, Jazz!"  
"I don't care!" Jazz shouted. "Do it!"  
"I can't!" Ratchet shouted back. "You're sparkling's spark is too large for the procedure, and it's wound too tightly with yours, Jazz. I've never seen a sparkling spark this strong before."  
Jazz leapt up, pushing close to Ratchet's faceplates. "I said, I don't care," Jazz growled. "Do it."  
"It's too risky," Ratchet snapped. His optics blazed, burning into Jazz's.  
Jazz snorted. "Too risky? Primus! Ratchet, you just operated on Prowler and Sideswipe! You slagging did a 'risky' hatchet job there, too!"  
"That's different-" Ratchet began. His denta gritted together, seething.  
"Why?" Jazz pressed. He pushed his finger into Ratchet's faceplates. "Why's it so different, Ratch'?"  
Ratchet glared back. He slapped Jazz's finger away. "Because that was a last-ditch attempt to save Sideswipe's life. He's dying, Jazz. I'll do risky surgeries to save my patient's lives. I'll do them all fragging day long if it means I have a chance to save one of you guys." Ratchet growled, glaring at Jazz. "I won't perform risky surgeries that might kill one of you!" he bellowed.  
"Ratchet, I cannot have this sparkling!"  
"That's what Sunstreaker said." Ratchet snarled. He turned away, slamming the terminal console off.  
"I'm not fragging Sunstreaker!" Jazz bellowed. "I'm Third in Command! I can't just go off duty! I have Special Operations and all of Intelligence in my command, Ratchet!" Jazz's hands were flying through the air as he shouted. "Do you think I can do any of that with a fragging sparkling?"  
"Yes!" Ratchet whirled around, and his hands slammed down on either side of Jazz's legs on the medberth.  
"It's not your fragging choice," Jazz hissed. He leaned close, pressing his faceplates into Ratchet's.  
"I won't put your life at risk, Jazz," Ratchet whispered. "I won't." He glared into Jazz's visor. "You are my patient. And you are asking me to risk your life. I won't."  
Jazz lashed out, pushing Ratchet back with both hands and freeing himself from the medberth. Ratchet stumbled, growling. Jazz hopped down from the berth, shaking with rage. "You won't fragging do it?" he asked, his vocalizer quaking and grinding.  
Ratchet shook his helm.  
Jazz's optics narrowed as his visor blazed. He stepped close, pushing himself well into Ratchet's personal space. Their plating scrapped together. "Careful Ratchet," Jazz spat into the medic's audial. "Your biases are showing."  
"My bias is to save your life, Jazz," Ratchet spat as Jazz backed away, turning to leave. "You're no good to us if you're dead. How can you command then?"  
"I'd be better off dead!" Jazz shouted back over his shoulder. He slammed his palm against the medbay door lock, then slid through as soon as the space was wide enough. Cursing, Jazz stormed down the hallway, bitter and scathing.  
Was he ever going to have a choice in the matter? He hadn't had a choice about getting sparked. His programming was overridden by Prowl's interfacing. He hadn't had a choice about finding the Decepticons. They had to be found then, and caught, and he'd fragged it up because of the distractions of his body. He hadn't had a choice about the shuttle's crew being irradiated and him being locked out of the medbay for weeks.  
He hadn't been given a choice about anything. And no matter what he did, it always ended up worse.  
Jazz's fist slammed into the bulkhead, denting the orange Ark metal into a large crater. He grunted, screaming through his denta, and slammed the bulkhead again.  
He was going to have his and Prowl's sparkling. No matter how he felt about the matter.

***

As had become normal, Prowl appeared at the medbay at the end of the duty shift. He slid in silently and headed for the twins' surgical suite. He slipped by Ratchet, furiously working in his office, completely unnoticed.  
Sunstreaker turned as he heard Prowl's footsteps approaching. He shifted Prowler in his arms, adjusting his wrist as he cupped his sparkling's helm. Prowler was feeding, sucking at his feeding lines with his little hands curled around Sunstreaker's thumb and fingers. His optics were dimming, fading as they stared up at Sunstreaker.  
Prowl stayed out of sight over Sunstreaker's shoulder. He didn't want to distract Prowler, excite him back to onlining. Sunstreaker was silent, grateful for the consideration, and after a few minutes, Prowler faded offline. Sunstreaker shifted his sparkling up to his shoulder and rubbed his backplates, then turned and nodded to Prowl.  
"How is he?" Prowl motioned toward Prowler, though his optics were on Sideswipe.  
"Tired. He didn't recharge well last night." Sunstreaker sighed. His optics were underpowered as well.  
Prowl noticed. "Did you recharge at all last night?" Sunstreaker shook his helm. Prowl exhaled as he moved to Sideswipe's side. "Still nothing from him?"  
Pausing momentarily, Sunstreaker shook his helm. "I thought I saw his foot twitch once," he grunted. "But I think I probably imagined it."  
"Sideswipe…" Prowl reached out gently, cupping Sideswipe's forehelm with his hand. "Come back to us." He stroked over the red twin's cool plating.  
"Hey guys." Wheeljack walked in quietly and headed for Sunstreaker.  
"He just went offline," Sunstreaker grunted as he carefully passed Prowler over to Wheeljack. Wheeljack had agreed to watch Prowler for the evening. Sunstreaker needed some time alone with his brother, even if it was one sided. He just wanted to lie next to him, hold him in his arms. Feel his sparkpulse in his plating. Rest his helm on his chestplates. His arms free, Sunstreaker moved to Sideswipe's berth. He grasped his brother's hand in his, squeezing gently.  
Wheeljack rocked Prowler in his arms, quieting the small fuss that fell from the sparkling. His gaze shifted, moving to Prowl, still standing over Sideswipe. "The last scans I ran showed the spark energies had completely merged," he said softly. "That's a really good sign."  
"But still nothing," Sunstreaker growled. He exhaled forcefully.  
"It may take a while…" Wheeljack sighed as his vocalizer faded. Even he didn't know how long to wait, or how long to hope.  
Ratchet appeared at the doorway, following the sudden soft conversation from the twins' room. He glared inside, his optics circling the mechs within. They widened as they fell on Wheeljack, then quickly looked away. "Prowl, I need to talk to you," Ratchet grunted. "Follow me." He disappeared without another word.  
Frowning, Prowl glanced at Sunstreaker and Wheeljack, then followed Ratchet to the main medbay.

***

Ratchet stopped, turning to face Prowl. His optics were dark and heavy, and he crossed his arms across his chestplates. He wouldn't look at Prowl right away, instead glaring over Prowl's shoulder at the far medberth.  
Prowl peered at Ratchet. "Is… everything alright, Ratchet?"  
"It's Jazz," Ratchet spat. His optics flicked to Prowl's.  
Prowl froze. His hand, reaching for Ratchet, halted in its path. His optics blanched, turning to white, and his mouth dropped open. "What?" he whispered. "What happened?"  
Swallowing, Ratchet's optics shied away again. He forced them back to Prowl. "There's no easy way to say this, Prowl," Ratchet grunted. "You guys are having your sparkling. I couldn't terminate it. It was too far along in his spark chamber, and terminating it would have been too great a risk for Jazz's health."  
The bottom promptly fell out from Prowl's world.  
All this time, the entirety of Jazz's carrying, Prowl had been preparing himself for Jazz's termination. He'd been preparing himself with the fortifications and emotional strength to get past the termination. He'd been quickly and quietly building a wall around that little part of his spark that had clung desperately to hope, stacking bricks and blocks like energon toys for Prowler, and he'd all but given up every shred of hope. All but.  
Prowl pitched forward, shocked out of his systems as his processor spun. Distantly, Prowl heard the slide of the medbay doors opening, but the sound was faded, and there was too much roaring suddenly in his audials. His vision blurred as he crashed against Ratchet, and then there were strong arms wrapping around his shoulders, helping guide him to the floor.  
"Easy there, Prowl," Ratchet was saying as Prowl slowly came back to his processor. "Easy there."  
Prowl's optics finally focused in, staring at Ratchet's grey faceplates and white helm, kneeling before him as he slumped against the bulkhead. Ratchet's optics were wide and bright as they stared back at him.  
A hand squeezed on Prowl's shoulder and Prowl twisted, looking up. Ironhide was crouched above him, staring down with a confused look in his optics. Part of Prowl wanted to recoil. He and Ironhide hadn't separated on the best of conditions they last time they'd spoken. How many months had it been? Six? They'd nearly come to blows. The other part of him sank into the comfort of Ironhide's body. He slumped strutless against the larger weapons specialist. His doorwings scrapped lifeleslsy against the bulkhead.  
"Is everything okay?" Wheeljack ducked out from the surgical ward with Prowler still curled in his arms and searching for the source of the crash and the running he'd heard. Prowl had upset a medical cart in his pitch sideways, and Ironhide had raced across the medbay to help Ratchet catch the rapidly-crashing Prowl before he hit the deck hard.  
Wheeljack's optics landed first on Prowl, slumping sideways and staring at Ratchet with pleading optics, and then on Ironhide, helping to hold Prowl up. His spark sputtered, squeezing too-tight. What was Ironhide doing there?  
Padding out to the main medbay, Wheeljack crouched down beside Prowl. Prowl groaned and pitched forward, his helm in his hands.  
"Should I come back?" Ironhide wasn't looking at Wheeljack.  
Ratchet shook his helm. He grabbed Prowl's forearms and tugged. "C'mon, Prowl, stand up. Let's get you over to the medberth." Prowl followed Ratchet's lead, staggering to his feet before he slumped against the medberth. His doorwings were lying flat against his backside. "Rest, Prowl. Take all the time you need." Ratchet was familiar with how long it took for Prowl to spin himself out of his processor crashes.  
"Going out?" Wheeljack chimed in, asking the two mechs not speaking to him. He glanced between Ironhide and Ratchet as he bounced Prowler gently. Neither mech looked his way.  
Finally, after Ratchet had made sure that Prowl wasn't going to fall forward off the medberth, he turned to Wheeljack. "I'm going out for a drive, Wheeljack. I won't be far. The medbay will alert me if anything comes up."  
"Going together?" Wheeljack tried to sound cheerful.  
Ratchet didn't answer. "If you want to hang around and keep watch until I get back, that'd be helpful. You don't have to though."  
Wheeljack swallowed, his throat bobbing up and down slowly. His audial fins flashed. He nodded. "I'll stick around," he croaked out. "I was going to watch Prowler anyway…" He tried to bounce Prowler in his arms again, but Ratchet had already turned away, back to Prowl. Wheeljack's gaze slid to Ironhide, taking in the weapons specialist's bulky frame, his strong servos, and his new dark paintjob. Wheeljack couldn't help but feel inadequate, suddenly next to a mech that he called a friend. He tried to square his shoulders, show off his own frame. It paled in comparison.  
Ironhide never even looked his way.  
Ratchet turned to Ironhide and nodded. The two were heading out – without a word to Wheeljack, standing there watching them next to Prowl's medberth – when Sunstreaker's hoarse shouts from the back surgical suite tore through the medbay.  
"Ratchet!" Sunstreaker bellowed. "Come quick! Wheeljack!"  
Everyone bolted for the surgical suite. Even Prowl, who had rocketed straight up at the first sound of Sunstreaker's panic-stricken voice. Wheeljack jostled behind Ironhide as they squeezed through the surgical suite's doorframe, following Ratchet, and behind them all, Prowl stumbled after.  
Optics zeroed in on Sideswipe, lying on his medberth with his optics flickering online. The fractured blue light of his optics bathed Sunstreaker's faceplates as his brother leaned over him, illuminating all the depth of Sunstreaker's tortured, hopeful gaze.  
Between the brothers, Sunstreaker gripped Sideswipe's hand, holding it against Sideswipe's chestplates.  
"What happened?" Sideswipe croaked. He groaned, his optics briefly offlining.  
"What can you feel?" Sunstreaker grunted, his vocalizer hoarse.  
Ratchet was already at Sideswipe's side, hands flying over the terminal as he pulled up the holo-display of the red twin's systems. "Are you in pain, Sideswipe?" Ratchet's optics were flying across the data on the terminal.  
Sunstreaker squeezed down in his brother's hand, holding his breath. He searched his brother's pinched and weary faceplates, willing his brother to online his optics fully.  
Barely, just barely, Sideswipe's finger's twitched against Sunstreaker's hand.  
Sunstreaker's optics blazed. He bared his denta, a wild, primal smile, and squeezed harder on Sideswipe's hand, nearly crushing his fingers. His other hand rose, grasping at Sideswipe's helm and pulling him roughly back by his audial horns.  
Sideswipe grimaced as his optics onlined. "Sunny!" he groaned. He squeezed down on his brother's hand again, then weakly tried to shake him off. "…'the slag?"  
Sunstreaker looked up, raising burning, ragged optics to stare across Sideswipe's berth at Ratchet. Ratchet had gone still, watching the interplay and the squeeze of the brothers' hands together. His mouth had formed a tiny, perfect "o."  
"Ratch'…" Sunstreaker whispered, half growling.  
Exhaling a breath he never knew he was holding, Ratchet slumped forward, leaning over Sideswipe's berth. His elbows rested on the berth edge, and one hand reached out, stroking over the top of Sideswipe's helm. "Oh Sideswipe…" Ratchet whispered. "You're going to be alright." He beamed, smiling wide.  
Sideswipe frowned, staring at Ratchet askance and wondering where the medic he knew had gone to. "About those pain meds…" Sideswipe whispered, croaking. "Think a 'bot could get some?"  
Nodding, Ratchet pulled back to the terminal, and a few moments later, Sideswipe was sighing happily. Ratchet pulled up Sideswipe's systems on the terminal again, checking his lifesigns. Sideswipe wasn't out of the trenches yet, but he was stable. He was healing. Ratchet smiled again, this time across the surgical suite to the immobile block of Prowl, Wheeljack, and Ironhide.  
Ironhide's optics fixed to Sideswipe, nearly burning out of his faceplates with intensity. He stared, his body stock-still, and Ratchet watched him visibly collect himself and slip out of the surgical suite on shaky feet. Prowl followed, slightly unsteady still, but smiling.  
Wheeljack stepped forward, moving to Sunstreaker's side. He still held the recharging Prowler in his arms, and he nudged Sunstreaker with his hip. Sunstreaker disentangled his hand from Sideswipe's – extremely reluctantly – and took his offline sparkling from Wheeljack. He turned back to Sideswipe with a tiny smile, holding Prowler close enough for Sideswipe to see.  
Sideswipe sighed, and one hand slowly reached out and stroked a single finger down Prowler's round cheek. His hand was trembling, shaking near uncontrollably, but Sideswipe had moved.  
Shock tore through Sideswipe's optics. He turned to Sunstreaker, staring up at him with a thousand questions in his gaze. His mouth opened, static falling out.  
Sunstreaker shook his helm. "I couldn't lose you," he grunted. "I won't."  
Finally, Ratchet met Wheeljack's optics over Sideswipe's medberth. The twins were locked in their stare, optics melding together as Sunstreaker gently took Sideswipe's trembling hand in his own again. They didn't pay any attention to the medic and engineer.  
"Great job, Ratch'," Wheeljack whispered. His optics were bursting with light and pride for Ratchet. "Great job."  
"Thank you," Ratchet whispered back. "I couldn't have done it without you."  
They were staring into each other's gazes, optics locked on, happy smiles playing over their lipplates, and Wheeljack just knew he had to say something. He had to speak, say something so Ratchet could hear him, try and reach out to him. He loved Ratchet, slaggit, and he didn't want to lose him forever. Wheeljack stuttered, his audials onlining, and he tried to speak.  
Ironhide's helm popped back into the surgical suite. His gaze instantly went to the twins, but he dragged his optics back to Ratchet after a moment. "I'll come back," Ironhide said softly. "You stay."  
Ratchet glanced at Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, already lost in their own world and talking softly about Prowler. The rest of the surgical suite could have faded to oblivion and the twins wouldn't have noticed. "I'm coming," Ratchet said. He slipped out from the side of Sideswipe's berth and headed for the door. "Let's take a walk instead. I'll need to get back soon and I don't want to be far if anything comes up."  
Ironhide nodded and let Ratchet lead the way out of the surgical suite.  
Wheeljack watched them both leave. He was begging - in his processor - for Ratchet to turn around, to give him one last glance. To smile his way. To give him something, anything to cling to.  
He never did.

***

Prowl staggered down the corridor. One hand trailed along the bulkhead, helping guide him as he fled the medbay.  
They were having their sparkling.  
He couldn't process any other thoughts, couldn't get anything else through his processor. Primus, they were having their sparkling.  
A tiny smile stretched across Prowl's lips. He gasped, a single, happy exhale gusting out. They were having their sparkling!  
Instantly, darkness poured through Prowl's processor, cooling his surge of joy. Jazz. What did Jazz think about this? He had to be furious. This was the last, the very, very last thing that Jazz wanted. Primus, was Jazz alright? Prowl's steps quickened as he hurried down the corridor. _I have to go see him. I have to let him know he's not alone!_  
He was outside Jazz's quarters before he knew what he was doing, and a shaking palm pressed against the doorpad. He waited, holding his breath.  
The doors finally slid open. Jazz stood in the doorway, his arms bracketing the doorframe as he leaned forward. His visor was bright, his quarters dark and dim behind him. His faceplates were set in stone, rigid and perfectly emotionless.  
Prowl exhaled. His doorwings fluttered behind him. "Jazz…"  
"You know." Jazz's hands gripped at the doorframe, and he pulled himself back, leaning backward. His mouth pursed into a line, tight line.  
"Jazz, you're not alone," Prowl said quickly. "I want to be here with you. I want to help you-"  
Jazz cut him off coldly. "I am alone, Prowl," he snapped. "I am alone 'cause I am the one carrying. I am the one who you did this to, and I am the one who has been told twice now that I can't control my own future." Jazz's helm slowly tilted to the side as he peered down at Prowl. "What makes you think I want anymore… help?"  
Prowl's optics burned. He squared his shoulders and stared back at Jazz. "It's my sparkling too," he whispered. "And whether you believe it or not, I do actually love you."  
Jazz looked away, looking over Prowl's shoulder and into the corridor. He rocked on his feet, still gripping the doorframe. "We'll have to come up with some system. Some way to share time with him. Every other week or something we'll trade." Jazz snorted, shaking his helm. "How the frag are we supposed to be on duty?"  
"We'll figure it out. Together," Prowl ground out through gritted denta.  
"We're not together," Jazz snapped, glaring at Prowl.  
"We're together in this!" Prowl wouldn't back down.  
Jazz stared at Prowl for a long moment. He dropped his gaze, and one hand moved to the door pad within his quarters. "Don't come back here, Prowl," Jazz said, not looking at him. His hand hovered over the door pad. "You got something to say to me, you can message me." He looked back at Prowl once, his visor blazing, and palmed the door shut.  
Prowl opened his mouth, staring at the closed door. He heard a soft thud within Jazz's quarters, just against the closed door. He reached out, laying one hand against the cold metal.  
On the other side of the door, Jazz sighed and pressed his forehelm into the door plating. He'd pitched forward, thunking his helm against the door as soon as it closed. His optics dimmed, his visor fading, and his hand rose, resting on the door panel. Jazz could almost feel Prowl on the other side.  
Jazz stayed there, stock still, and listened as Prowl's footsteps slowly faded away.


	12. Chapter 12

Ratchet walked shoulder to shoulder with Ironhide, heading back from another of their long, meandering drives. He tossed the older mech a sidelong smile as they two meandered back to the medbay. They spent over an hour talking, just spilling their sparks out.  
Ironhide, too, unloaded to Ratchet – talking about the twins, mostly. Ironhide confessed he hadn't had a full night of recharge in the past month without startling awake, seeing Sideswipe, broken and damaged and lying motionless on the medberth.  
Ratchet gave him daily updates on the twins and on Sideswipe's progress. It had been a month since Sideswipe had come back online, one month since Ratchet performed the dual surgery on Prowler and Sideswipe.  
As they grew closer to the medbay, loud and frustrated shouts bounced through the corridors. Ironhide's optic ridges shot high as Ratchet frowned and broke into a jog.  
Leave the twins alone for one hour, just one hour, and they were already shouting and hollering at each other again?  
The doors to the medbay slid open on a chaotic scene. Ratchet stared, his mouth dropping open.

***

"Sideswipe! You have to keep going!" Sunstreaker gripped Sideswipe's elbow, his other hand pointing ahead, urging Sideswipe on. He glowered at his brother, his face pinched and angry.  
Sideswipe slumped against Sunstreaker, grunting and digging his shoulder into Sunstreaker's chest. "I'm fragging tired, Sunny!" Sideswipe snapped. His knees sagged, and he wilted against Sunstreaker. "We've been at this for an hour!"  
"You have to keep going," Sunstreaker growled. Why was Sideswipe fighting this? He knew he had to work hard at his physical therapy. He'd been fragging dead, for Primus' sake. "You're going home today. You have to be able to walk." Ratchet told them both that they were free for the overnights as long as Sideswipe was doing well after each day's physical therapy.  
"I know!" Sideswipe snapped. His optics burned. His legs were beginning to shake. "I fragging know!" He wasn't strong enough for this yet. He thought walking back and forth for an hour would be easy. Who knew an hour could be so long? "Why are you pushing me so hard?"  
Sunstreakers optic's darkened. "Quit being an aft," he muttered. He looked away. "You need to get your strength back."  
Sideswipe pitched forward, his forehelm hitting his brother's shoulder. "Sunny…" Sideswipe groaned. He shook his helm  
"What?" Sunstreaker stared down at Sideswipe through narrowed, wary optics.  
Sideswipe's hands gripped at Sunstreaker's arms. "Sunny, I love you too," Sideswipe said simply, staring into his brother's gaze. He smiled, letting his frustration go.  
Sunstreaker's optics blazed wide. His mouth twisted, a tiny smile curving his lips, and he wrapped his brother in both of his arms. "We'll take a short break," Sunstreaker grunted. He helped Sideswipe limp toward the medberth. "Okay?"  
On the deck, Prowler giggled, grinning up at his parents with bright, shining optics and a little spittle of lubricants dribbling from his mouth. He was on all fours, scampering before his parents with every step of Sideswipe's.  
Sunstreaker carefully helped Sideswipe rest against the medberth before scooping Prowler up. Prowler called out, waving his hands through the air before he reached for Sideswipe. Sideswipe was too weak to hold him after their practice walking, though, and grasped Prowler's hand instead. His optics lingered on the vertical scar marring Prowler's chestplates before he pulled out one of the twins' multitude of sparkling story tablets gifted from the crew. "Which one should we read to Bug today?" Sideswipe asked Prowler. His vocalizer was teasing, light and fun, and Sunstreaker bounced Prowler as their sparkling giggled. "How about _Good Morning Proton_?" Prowler giggled again, burying his faceplates in Sunstreaker's chestplates. One optic peeked out, spying on Sideswipe.

***

Wide grins split Ratchet and Ironhide's faceplates. Ratchet shook his helm.  
"I'm gonna head out," Ironhide grunted. The twins hadn't seen him yet. "I'll see you later?"  
Ratchet nodded. He pointed at Ironhide. "Remember what I said."  
Ironhide pointed back at Ratchet. "Remember what I said."

***

The medbay doors slid open, and Ironhide slipped out as Prowl walked in. The two officers shared a short nod - a vast improvement to their relationship. Prowl immediately spotted the twins, and he smiled faintly as he watched the family, though it barely reached his underpowered optics.  
"I've got a tablet to give you," Ratchet said quietly.  
As always, Prowl nodded once and followed Ratchet to his office. Ratchet palmed shut the door and studied Prowl carefully. His optics were unfocused, staring unseeing at the decking. His energy was low and his systems were underpowered. Dejection and despair clung to his plating, leaching from his frame.  
Ratchet skimmed a small tablet across the desktop toward Prowl, not meeting his gaze. Somehow, and Ratchet wasn't quite sure how, he'd ended up becoming the courier for Prowl and Jazz's communications. Not that the two mechs spoke much at all through him, even. The tablet Ratchet passed to Prowl had a short list of sparkling names on it, and nothing more. It was from Jazz, though, and Prowl picked up the tablet carefully, as if it held the secrets of the universe.  
"How is he?" Prowl finally looked up.  
"Good." Ratchet nodded. He pursed his lips. "Tired. He's entering the final stage of his carrying. He's only got another month left." Jazz's weekly exam had been that morning. Per routine, Prowl stopped by the afternoon after, talking to Ratchet about their sparkling and picking up a new tablet from Jazz.  
Prowl swallowed and nodded. "And our sparkling?"  
"Strong and healthy," Ratchet said. "He's got a strong spark. He's drawing a lot of power from Jazz. I upped Jazz's rations again."  
"He must be taking in energon every hour."  
"Thereabouts." Ratchet shook his helm. Silence fell.  
Prowl lowered his optics. He tried to swallow, but his gears were sticking in his throat. "Any idea when the sparkling will emerge? Prime wants us to go to DC and New York soon. There are some treaty negotiations and then the UN General Assembly. I... would like to be here when he arrives."  
"Jazz has another full month to go. You should be fine to travel, as long as you're back in two weeks to be safe." Ratchet paused, peering at Prowl. "You guys talked yet about how you're going to handle that?"  
Prowl shook his helm. "Not yet," he said softly. "That's for the next round." He waved the tablet, swallowing.  
Ratchet nodded. He leaned back in his chair, his hands squeezing down on the armrests.  
A loud sparkling laugh broke through the office. Ratchet and Prowl turned, gazing out into the medbay and to the twins' family. Sunstreaker held Prowler close to Sideswipe, and the red twin tickled him with both hands while blowing raspberries on Prowler's round, chubby cheeks. Prowler squirmed, trying to escape and chase after Sideswipe, and his laughter was loud, bouncing off the medbay bulkheads.  
"Only a month to go," Prowl whispered. His optics faded again, staring at nothing. "I always thought that any sparkling I would have had would be in that kind of environment." Prowl gestured to the twins through Ratchet's office window. "A close knit family. Not… on my own."  
"You're going to be great, Prowl," Ratchet said quickly. "You and Jazz both."  
Prowl gripped down on the tablet in his hands. Silence.  
Smiling sadly, Prowl thanked Ratchet and pushed his way out of the medbay. Sideswipe waved to him, and then moved Prowler's hand to wave to him, too.  
Prowl nodded, but his fractured smile didn't reach his optics or his spark.  
Darkness hovered on the edge of his being, surrounding Prowl's processor in a fog. He felt like a shell, a walking, empty shell, with so much life happening all around him. He was on the edge of something that should have been incredible, spark-shatteringly wonderful, the brilliance of his own sparkling. The second sparkling of the next generation. Instead, Prowl's days and nights bled together in a painful smear of apprehensive misery. His memories played on repeat, reminding him of all that he'd lost.  
And, when he tried to imagine his sparkling's face, all he could ever see was Jazz's furious face glaring back at him.

***

Wheeljack was helm-down and aft-deep - and more in than out - of the battered and burned remnants of Mirage's crashed shuttle. The Air Force had carted the shuttle remnants to the Ark and deposited the wreckage in the rear hangar off the back of the volcano. Wheeljack's spark plummeted when he saw the remains of his shuttle, teetering on the verge of falling completely apart.  
And, of course, he was asked to fix it.  
"This is why we can't have nice things," Wheeljack muttered as he worked on the aft section of the interior fuel lines leading to the booster rockets. He tucked himself inside an access shaft on top of the shuttle, and his legs were poking out, sprawled across the shuttle's hull. One leg curled at his knee, helping hold his balance. "Every time I try to build something nice…"  
"Do you know there's an echo in there?"  
Wheeljack started as a new voice bellowed up into the shuttle's hull. He slammed his helm as he jerked, his audial fins flashing. In there echoed, ringing off the shuttle's plating as he cursed. He scampered backward, upending himself from the open hole he'd been working in and glared down at his intruder.  
Ratchet stood on the hangar deck, his arms behind his back, grinning. "I can hear every word you're saying."  
Wheeljack's anger melted away. He cocked his helm to the side as his audials flashed. "Stick around. I'll start singing soon."  
Ratchet cringed. "I've heard that before. No thanks."  
Wheeljack's audials flashed again. "You sure?" he inhaled. "The lock nut is connected to the… lock washer!" He started to sing a low baritone, horribly off key and out of tune.  
"I think you got worse, 'Jack." Ratchet cringed, shaking his helm.  
Wheeljack chuckled and pulled out a rag from his subspace. He tried to wipe down his oil-coated hands, but it was moot. His entire body was covered in soot and burnt oil, and large black smears marred his faceplates and blast mask.  
"You missed a spot," Ratchet quipped as he paced around the shuttle. He stared up at Wheeljack, watching as the engineer shrugged.  
"Whatcha doin' here, Ratch'?"' Wheeljack leaned over the side of the shuttle, bracing his elbows on a crunched section of hull plating.  
Ratchet grinned, letting optics wander over the length of the crunchy, crispy shuttle. He reached out and knocked on the hull, three quick raps of his knuckles.  
"Hey! Careful!" On the other side of the shuttle, a large crash sounded, a piece of hull plating falling to the deck. Debris followed, washers rolling in every which way before spinning out of their circles and teetering to the deck. Soft jingles and the clatter and roll of falling machinery and tools echoed across the hangar.  
Ratchet could barely suppress his grin. "I was coming down to see if you wanted any help," he began. "But, since I can see that you've got it all well in hand…" His optic ridges rose.  
Slowly, Wheeljack turned back to face Ratchet. He threw his rag on the shuttle's hull and folded his arms over his chestplates. "You know, this is why we can't have nice things around here."  
"So that's a yes to the help then?" Ratchet's optics twinkled, teasing Wheeljack.  
"You'll get dirty." Wheeljack still couldn't believe that Ratchet was truly offering to help. "You should see my lower half. I'm as black as Ironhide." As soon as the words left Wheeljack's vocalizer, he knew he misspoke. He cringed, looking away.  
A long pause filled the hangar deck. "Well, that's why the Ark has washracks." Ratchet stuck his hand out to Wheeljack. "Help me up."  
Ratchet clambered up onto the shuttle's hull with Wheeljack, balancing unsteadily on the burned-black and uneven plating. Wheeljack pointed out the lines and support systems he was slowly working on emptying and tearing out of the shuttle, and then set Ratchet up with tools and his own smudge rag. Ratchet tucked into the work quickly, tearing out the destroyed lines from the shuttle's internal frame.  
Wheeljack couldn't help it. He stole glances at Ratchet every chance he got. Ratchet hadn't come to help him with the shuttle in the entire month it had been back. He'd been spending his free time holed up in the medbay with the twins, and when he wasn't helping Sideswipe get back on his feet, Ratchet was with Ironhide. The two went on long off-Ark excursions every other day.  
Unfortunately, Wheeljack had a front row seat to the whole unfolding escapade between Ratchet and Ironhide. He was in the medbay every afternoon and evening helping the twins with Prowler. He delivered the mass of sparkling stories the crew had started scrawling on tablets for the family, and he and Prowler played together in the Rec room while the twins had a few hours to themselves.  
Wheeljack adored his time with Prowler, though the irony struck him deep, every day.  
Sadness followed swiftly on the heels of irony. Ratchet never spoke to Wheeljack while he was in the medbay with Prowler. He never reached out to him, never spoke to him about the sparkling, never joined them in the Rec room. Aside from a odd bits of medical conversation, Ratchet hadn't reached out to Wheeljack in any way in over a month.  
Until now. Wheeljack's optics roamed over Ratchet. He couldn't help the soft glow of his audials as he watched him. He'd been trying to give Ratchet all the space he could. He never pressed. He had backed off entirely after Ratchet and Ironhide's first 'walk.'  
Not that giving him that space didn't kill him inside, though. Wheeljack's optics glittered as he gave up his pretense of work and watched his former lover.  
Ratchet caught him. He turned, catching Wheeljack out of the corner of his optics. Wheeljack looked down quickly.  
"So…" Wheeljack swallowed, struggling to stay calm. He didn't want to ruin this. "The twins really going home today?" He fussed at a bolt on the hull plating, trying to remove the blackened paneling.  
Ratchet nodded. "Sunny has Sideswipe reenacting the 'Escape from Kalis Death March' in 50 meter increments across the medbay. He is bound and determined to have his brother walk out of there tonight."  
Wheeljack's audials flashed. "How's Sideswipe feel about that?"  
"They were taking a break when I left."  
"Well, if they're getting out of there today, then I'll be on sparkling-sitting duty all night." Wheeljack finally loosened the crumbled bolt and started working the hull plating loose. "I offered to watch Prowler their first night back."  
A long pause. "That was considerate of you."  
"Eh." Wheeljack's audials flared as he pulled on the plating. "I like the little guy. We have a lot of fun together."  
"So I've heard." Ratchet's voice strained over the words.  
It was Wheeljack's turn to pause. He glanced back. The medic frowned as he coiled a piece of wiring that could be salvaged. "Why don't you stop by," he asked. He tried to keep his voice light. It came out rushed. "You can see Prowler a bit."  
"I see Prowler every day." Ratchet didn't turn to look at Wheeljack.  
Wheeljack tossed the freed patch of mangled plating over the side of the shuttle. The metal clanged, crashing heavy on the dusty deck. "Yeah, I know," he said quietly. "You're probably busy anyway." Ironhide's faceplates flashed in Wheeljack's mind. He tried not to cringe.  
"You have quite the reputation, you know." Ratchet swallowed. "You're the best sparkling-sitter on board."  
A small glow spread across Wheeljack's audial fins. His optics crinkled as he smiled beneath his blast mask. "Yeah," he drawled. "I really love it. You know?"  
Ratchet didn't answer. Wheeljack sighed, looking down. He poked at the next crumpled bolt.  
Silence reigned as the two worked on the shuttle. Wheeljack watched Ratchet out of the corner of his optics, but Ratchet never looked his way.

***

Some days, Sideswipe was extremely grateful to be on medical confinement. Medical confinement meant the energon rationing didn't apply to him.  
He had an energon line spiked into his forearm, pumping fortified medical-grade energon directly into his systems. He could feel himself growing stronger every day, feel the hum in his circuits returning. Still, he was pushing it. Sunstreaker had made him walk miles around the medbay, chasing after Prowler as their sparkling crawled ahead. Sunstreaker somehow had gotten Prowler in on the malicious torture that he and Ratchet called 'physical therapy,' and Prowler remained just out of reach, scampering and crawling and giggling back at Sideswipe as Sideswipe slowly worked his servo strength back up.  
Sunstreaker stayed by his side for every single step, one hand on the small of his back, the other resting on his arm. He caught Sideswipe when he stumbled, held him up when he slumped over, exhausted. Growled at him to keep pushing. Stared at him with the barest hint of a smile when Sideswipe managed steps without a limp.  
Now, Sunstreaker was holding Prowler in his arms, bouncing their giggling sparkling as he rocked on his feet. Prowler had been a bundle of energy ever since Sideswipe onlined, shrieking and yelling and laughing at everything under the sun. He was putting his feet in his mouth and pulling on Sunstreaker's audials, or he was hiding from Sideswipe's funny faces as he laid on his chest. He was sitting up as both of them read to him, pointing at the sometimes-awful pictures the crew had drawn in the stories they had written for Prowler. Prowler squealed and slapped at the tablets, delighted with the bright pictures and nearly-unidentifiable characters.  
Sunstreaker blew as raspberry on Prowler's helm as Sideswipe leaned rested on the berth. Prowler giggled and turned away, keeping his optics locked on Sideswipe as he playfully smacked Sunstreaker's faceplates. Sunstreaker captured Prowler's fingers in his lips, growling as he shook his head back and forth. Prowler giggled harder, squeezing his optics shut.  
Unnoticed behind the twins, the medbay doors slid open and Smokescreen padded across the medbay. "Hey guys."  
Sideswipe's optics blazed, edged in panic. He glanced quickly at Sunstreaker.  
Sunstreaker moved Prowler's little hand – the one not trapped in his mouth – and waved back at Smokescreen.  
Sideswipe stopped breathing.  
"Rumor is you two are busting out of here today." Smokescreen stopped next to Sunstreaker. His helm tilted, smiling down at Prowler. Prowler stared back, unabashedly curious.  
Sunstreaker nodded. He let go of Prowler's captured fingers and kissed his sparkling's helm. "Ratchet said we could leave if Sideswipe was strong enough to walk on his own two feet." He smirked at his brother, showing denta in an almost feral display of pride. "He can walk now."  
Sideswipes optics bounced from Smokescreen and Sunstreaker, comically large.  
Smokescreen chuckled. "I can only imagine." He grinned at Sunstreaker.  
Unbelievably, Sunstreaker grinned back.  
As Sideswipe's processor slowly fused and refused to process the sight of his brother and his ex-lover sharing a grin at his expense, Smokescreen's optics caught on little Prowler. The sparkling was playing with Sunstreaker's chestplates, drawing imaginary shapes and images with his sticky fingers as Sunstreaker rocked his hips from side to side.  
Smokescreen turned to the flummoxed Sideswipe. Sideswipe's mouth was opening and closing, gaping soundlessly. "Glad to see you're up and about, Siders." He smiled, one hand reaching out to squeeze at Sideswipe's arm. "The crew misses you." Smokescreen grinned, spying the pile of sparkling tablets stacked on the medberth behind Sideswipe. "Which is his favorite?"  
"Uhhh…"  
"He likes _Sparkle the Magic Mech-o-Saur_." Sunstreaker spoke first. At the name of the book – and the imaginary creature – Prowler's face lit up as he gazed into his parent's faceplates.  
Smokescreen chuckled. "Blue did that one."  
"Bluestreak?" Sideswipe finally spoke, sputtering around Bluestreak's name. "Bluestreak wrote one of these?"  
"We all did." Smokescreen smiled at Sideswipe. "I may have twisted his elbow a bit, though." He winked.  
Sideswipe's optics bounced between Smokescreen and Sunstreaker again. "I… don't understand," he finally stuttered.  
Smokescreen grinned, his optics sliding to Sunstreaker. They shared a small smile, honest an genuine.  
Behind them both, the medbay doors slid open and Wheeljack wandered in, freshly washed and cleaned of the shuttle soot and oil. Ratchet finally emerged from his office, heading for the twins' medberth. He didn't meet Wheeljack's gaze, and didn't return his happy audial flash, Wheeljack's version of a smile.  
Prowler shrieked as he spotted Wheeljack, waving with excitement. Wheeljack laughed as he stopped next to the twins, and Sunstreaker passed Prowler into Wheeljack's arms. Prowler immediately reached for Wheeljack's audials, and Wheeljack puffed air through his vents, teasing Prowler's fingers. Prowler giggled, burying his face against Wheeljack's neck.  
Even Ratchet finally grinned as he watched Prowler and Wheeljack. Smokescreen stepped back, folding his arms over his chestplates. He nodded to Sideswipe with a smile, then to Sunstreaker.  
"Well, Sideswipe," Ratchet smiled. "Ready to head home?"  
Sunstreaker grasped Sideswipe's hand, threading their fingers together.  
"I'm ready," Sideswipe whispered.

***

"I don't understand," Sideswipe said, leaning on Sunstreaker as they slowly walked arm in arm down the Ark corridor to their quarters. There wasn't any fanfare, no crew waiting in the hallways. They were heading home before the shift change, and most mechs were still on duty and at their stations. It was quiet, just the way they liked it. "I really don't understand."  
"That's okay," Sunstreaker grunted, smug. "You don't need to."  
"Sunny…" Sideswipe glared at the mech who looked like his brother. "Who are you? What have you done with my brother?"  
Sunstreaker chuckled. "You really going to complain about me being more friendly?" He turned teasing optics to Sideswipe. "You've been trying to get me to 'loosen up' for years."  
"I didn't know I had to die to get that to happen," Sideswipe grumbled.  
Instantly, Sunstreaker's expression darkened. He glared. "Don't say that."  
"Sorry." Sideswipe stumbled, tripping slightly in his shuffle down the hall. Sunstreaker's hands were there, though, steadying him immediately. Sideswipe gripped on Sunstreaker's forearm. He smiled up at his brother. "Thanks."  
Sunstreaker smiled back, a bare curve of his lips. They kept walking, and finally, they shuffled to their door.  
"Feels like we should be scrapping cobwebs off, huh?" Sideswipe leaned against Sunstreaker as his brother punched in the lock code. It had been so long since Sideswipe had fled their quarters, desperate to get to Sunstreaker at NASA headquarters. So much had happened since then. Too much.  
Grunting, Sunstreaker led his brother into their quarters. Everything was just as they'd left it, the picture of a life interrupted. Energon cubes half-consumed on the table. Sparkling toys scattered on the floor. Prowler's extra play blankets scrunched up and pushed across the decking. His bath basin, still tipped over and resting to dry.  
Sideswipe sighed and leaned back against Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker's arms wound around his waist and he buried his faceplates in Sideswipe's neck. "We're home," Sideswipe whispered. Sunstreaker nodded against his plating.  
"Wanna sit down?" Sunstreaker was already guiding Sideswipe to the couch, helping his brother down before Sideswipe's joint began to shake. He brushed away a handful of painted energon cubes - Prowler's first toy – and sat down next to him. Sideswipe immediately rested his helm on Sunstreaker's shoulder as Sunstreaker laced their fingers together.  
Silence filled their quarters. "You scared me." Sunstreaker spoke first. "I really thought you were gone."  
"So did I." Sideswipe squeezed down on his brother's hand. Sunstreaker squeezed back and refused to let go. He pressed his cheek against Sideswipe's helm. "I would have done the same thing," Sideswipe whispered finally. "If it was you."  
Sunstreaker swallowed, and his hand clenched at Sideswipe's. His optics offlined as he turned and pressed a hard kiss to Sideswipe's helm. "I can't lose you," he growled. "I cant."  
"Does that make us bad parents?" Sideswipe's thumb stroked across Sunstreaker's hand. "We put Prowler in danger…"  
"Prowler would be worse off without you." Sunstreaker cut Sideswipe off. "He needs you."  
"He needs you too." Sideswipe turned his helm, gazing up into Sunstreaker's faceplates. "And I need you."  
Swallowing again, Sunstreaker squeezed his brother tight, hugging Sideswipe into his body as he squeezed his hand and brought their conjoined hands to his mouth. Sunstreaker kissed Sideswipe's open palm gently, soft and warm, and he tried to envelop his brother's body with his own.  
Sideswipe relaxed into his brother's hold. "Oh, I love you too, Sunny." Sideswipe grinned, feeling the lassitude that spread throughout his brother, the relaxation that came from his words, his acknowledgement of Sunstreaker's love. He thought back to the medbay earlier, and to Sunstreaker gruff insistence on their walking practice and his physical therapy. He'd reacted the same then, too, relaxing as soon as Sideswipe acknowledged what it was Sunstreaker was doing.  
He was loving him, in his own way. All his life, Sunstreaker had spoken through his actions, volumes of meaning hidden in looks and touches, and in the entrenched loyalty Sunstreaker had maintained to Sideswipe throughout the years.  
Sideswipe's first stray from Sunstreaker, his first affair, had left a rift between them that no amount of words, no amount of apologies could ever repair. No matter how many times Sideswipe told his brother he loved him and no matter how often he pledged his devotion, Sunstreaker only had to look at Smokescreen, Bluestreak, Hound, or any of the others, and know that Sideswipe didn't truly mean it. The words meant nothing. All of his life, words had been empty promises and meaningless noise. Sunstreaker spoke through his actions, and he read others the same way.  
Sideswipe was finally learning how to listen to Sunstreaker's language, and learning how to respond. How to acknowledge his actions, let him know he understood. With every recognition, every 'I love you too' to Sunstreaker's unspoken love, Sunstreaker's spark seemed to swell, and contentment, pure and simple, pulsed through his body.  
For the first time, Sunstreaker felt like he was being heard. And, for the first time, Sideswipe felt like his brother could hear him, too.

***

 _How on Cybertron am I supposed to do this?_ Smokescreen stared at the back of Bluestreak's helm as he hovered at the rear of the Command Deck. Bluestreak was on comms duty, just as he was every night. Bluestreak had traded overnight comms duty with every mech on board, neatly sidestepping the duty roster and turning into a nocturnal mech. He stayed away from the Rec room, avoided his squad, and didn't venture anywhere save the Command Deck.  
At first, Smokescreen had welcomed the reprieve. He didn't know what to do about Bluestreak's revelation. He still didn't know what to do about it, in fact. Same-frame relationships were wrong, almost as wrong as incestual ones. It was… too close for comfort. Same-frame meant there was a similarity in code, far, far too similar, and it was looked upon as being just a shade away from familial incest. The possibility of sharing code deviations and perpetuating bad code was too strong a chance in same-frame partnerships. _"Incestuous…"_ Bluestreak had hissed at him. _Like incest._  
It was wrong. Everything in Smokescreen's processor told him so. Bluestreak couldn't have fallen for him. They were friends, and they had been for years. There hadn't been any sign, any hint of Bluestreak's feelings, not once through the long years of their friendship.  
And yet, Bluestreak had told him that he'd loved him from afar, watched as Smokescreen gave his spark away to other mechs, silent and never speaking. So many years of silence, watching Smokescreen with others.  
Just like he'd watched Sideswipe with others.  
_Sideswipe…_ Smokescreen sighed. Bluestreak had raged at him, furious over his acceptance of the twins and their relationship. Incestual relationships were worse than same-frame relationships, and when the twins' secret had come out, the crew had been rightly horrified. Just in their shock and revulsion. It was something wrong. Something that wasn't ever done.  
Except… now it was… alright. If not totally accepted, then well on its way. The crew was moving past the shock, moving past the revulsion, and seeing the twins for who they were again. Accepting them as individuals again.  
And, Bluestreak was right. It was still wrong. It would always be wrong.  
And, Bluestreak was right again. Smokescreen wasn't able to accept Bluestreak's revelation just yet. He just couldn't.  
Sighing, Smokescreen shifted across his feet, frowning as he stared at Bluestreak. He'd worked up the courage to come here, to try and talk to Bluestreak, try to... what? Reason with him?  
Bluestreak turned away from the comms controls, glaring over his shoulder. His optics narrowed as he spotted Smokescreen, and he turned back to the controls quickly. "I can hear you back there you know," he grumbled.  
Giving up, Smokescreen slowly crossed the command deck, heading for Bluestreak. He stopped behind him as his hands fidgeted, and he couldn't look at Bluestreak. Smokescreen's optics danced over the comm controls, flashing between the monitors.  
Bluestreak sighed heavily. His doorwings flicked, irritated.  
"You've been avoiding me," Smokescreen finally said softly. His optics slid sidelong toward Bluestreak.  
"Well, I was trying to," Bluestreak grumbled. "Till you showed up."  
Silence. Smokescreen looked away. He fidgeted again, his hands reaching for the terminal and playing over the controls. "Blue…"  
"You don't have to do this, Smokes," Bluestreak growled. "You don't have to come here and try and make it all better, okay? I know what's what." He wouldn't look at Smokescreen.  
"I just want to talk, Blue," Smokescreen said, sighing. "I just… I don't get it. I've been trying to figure it all out…" He sighed again, and he turned to Bluestreak. "How did this happen?"  
Bluestreak snorted. "You make it sound like some kind of horrible accident," he snapped. Smokescreen didn't react, and Bluestreak shook his helm, cursing under his breath. "Fragging Pit…" He trailed off with a sigh. "I don't know how much of this you're going to understand…"  
"Try me." Smokescreen leaned back, bracing himself against the terminal controls. He finally turned, staring down at Bluestreak.  
It was Bluestreak's turn to fidget, his hands reaching for the controls. He played with the toggles, flicking between the different comm channels. "You know I survived Praxus," he began. "Me and, like, two other 'bots that were in the city that day. I don't even know who they were." Bluestreak shook his helm. "I was real young, and when the Autobots moved in, I was taken away. They moved me to Iacon, and I stayed there until I was old enough to enlist. Medics took care of me, and they did their best, you know? They tried to talk to me about Praxus, tried to tell me what it was like. What other Praxians were like." He swallowed, his gears rising and falling. "But I was all alone. There weren't any other Praxians around. I hadn't met Prowl or you yet, and the only other time I ever saw a Praxian was when one came in to the medbay shot dead by a 'Con."  
Smokescreen forced himself to stay, to listen to Bluestreak's oddly detached voice, his revelations. He'd never heard this side of his friend, not in their entire friendship.  
"So then I enlisted, and then I joined Prime's column, and then I met you and Prowl." Bluestreak's hands waved through the air, rolling through years of history in his simple short statements. "And, I guess I, like, built up Praxus to be this mythical wonder-city, with buildings made of glass and happiness raining from the sky." He grinned, though it was painful. "And Praxians… Man, those had to be the best kind of mechs, right?" He tossed a wry look to Smokescreen, his optic ridges raised high.  
Sighing, Bluestreak shook his helm when Smokescreen didn't respond. "Prowl was great and I'm real thankful to him for everything he's done to help me. I was young, real young when I joined, and if it weren't for him I wouldn't be online today. I know that." Bluestreak nodded to himself, then fell silent.  
Finally he spoke again, swallowing deeply. "But when I met you…" Snorting, he shook his helm. "I mean, Primus. I was slagged. You were everything I'd ever dreamed a Praxian would be like. Smart, brave, dashing. Funny." He flicked at the controls. "Beautiful."  
Smokescreen couldn't breathe.  
"I thought if I could just hang around you, be your friend, I could be like that too. I could be a real Praxian." A pause. "Didn't quite work out the way I thought." He paused again, gathering himself to press on. "I knew it was wrong. I mean, I knew it. I've always known it was wrong. But I couldn't help it. Falling for you was… the most natural thing in the universe."  
Finally, Smokescreen exhaled. He was shaking, his hands trembling. He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to stay still.  
"There's all this dark slag in my processor, Smokey. All sorts of glitches and fragged up slag." Long held resentments burned inside Bluestreak, painful and deep. He would never forgive himself for surviving Praxus. He would never be a normal Praxian. He'd never be a normal anything. He'd never be able to go home, and he didn't know anything other than war and death.  
Smokescreen would never return his twisted, fragged up feelings.  
"All that fragged up slag is all wrapped around you too," Bluestreak grunted, finally looking at Smokescreen again. "Cause you're Praxian, and you're everything that I've ever wanted, and I can't ever really love you the way I want to." He smiled, though it was dark and full of a lifetime's worth of pain. "Just like everything else."  
"Blue…" Smokescreen didn't know whether to break down and sob or run away. The darkness wrapped tight around Bluestreak, cold and lonely and insidious. How had his friend kept all of this bottled inside for so long?  
"I never asked anything from you, Smokescreen," Bluestreak said, looking away. "I knew it would never happen. I knew I never had a chance. I just wanted you to be happy." He sighed, then frowned, glaring at the console. "It just really hurts, you know. To see you be okay with the twins. 'Cause I know you're not okay with this, and you won't be. You're not like me. You're not all fragged up." Bluestreak swallowed and slowly looked back at Smokescreen. His optics traveled the length of Smokescreen's tense and devastated frame. "You're perfect," Bluestreak whispered.  
Smokescreen shook his helm. "No, I'm not."  
Bluestreak snorted. "You should see yourself the way I see you." He shook his helm. "I just need some time to get over it, okay? I never wanted you to know about this. Everything hurts right now, and I can't deal with it all at once." He paused, then frowned. "So, can you leave me alone for a while? Please?"  
Stunned by the entire revelation, Smokescreen didn't know what to do. He couldn't speak, couldn't respond to Bluestreak's declaration of love and adoration, his past wrapped darkly around his ideals and his hope and his love. He couldn't even think, and he just nodded slowly, dumb and silent, back toward Bluestreak. Bluestreak turned away, ignoring Smokescreen as he focused on the comms panel.  
Smokescreen took the hint and pulled back, near-stumbling across the Command Deck. He wavered as he reached for the palm pad, and he forced himself to look back at Bluestreak before he fled.  
The silver doorwinger had pitched forward and buried his helm in his hands. His doorwings were shaking, trembling along his backplates  
Smokescreen's spark shattered as he forced himself to walk away.

***

Wheeljack was lying next to Prowler, seated on his play blanket, and was helping the sparkling build a grand tower of energon play-blocks when the door to his quarters chimed.  
Prowler and Wheeljack turned to each other, quizzical expressions mirrored on each other's faces. Prowler's optics were wide, his mouth narrowed into a tiny 'o', and Wheeljack's audial fins flared bright. "Wonder who that is?" Wheeljack asked Prowler as he stood. Prowler twisted, watching Wheeljack stroll across his quarters toward the door. One of Prowler's hand moved to his mouth to suck on his fingers.  
Wheeljack palmed open this door, then froze. His audial fins flared again.  
"Hi," Ratchet said. He smiled, small and slightly strained. "How's it going?"  
Wheeljack stared at Ratchet, not moving.  
Behind him, Prowler grew too-inquisitive, and, giggling, he leaned forward, his hands falling to the decking as he shifted to his knees. He started to crawl, slow, lumbering movements turning to a fast-paced zip as he weaved across the deck.  
"Good!" Wheeljack finally sputtered. "Prowler and I are playing."  
Ratchet spied the fast-approaching sparkling crawling across the floor behind Wheeljack. He smirked. "I think he's making a break for it."  
Wheeljack spun, and Prowler giggled as he was caught. He pitched forward, burying his forehelm against the back of his hands. Wheeljack scooped Prowler up, twirling him in his arms until Prowler was laying on his backplates and Wheeljack's hands tickled over his belly. Prowler erupted into loud peals of laughter, writhing and wriggling. "I thought you were going to wait for me!" Wheeljack teased.  
Ratchet stared at Wheeljack. His jaw clenched, gears grinding.  
Wheeljack sat Prowler up in his arms, pressing him up against his chestplates. Prowler clapped his hands, then waved toward Ratchet. He yelled, shouting at the top of his vocalizer.  
"Wanna come in?" Wheeljack finally asked. There was a shade too-much eagerness in his voice.  
Ratchet shrugged. "Sure," he said, trying for indifference. "I think I have to see this to believe it, anyway." Wheeljack wisely kept quiet.  
"Oh!" Wheeljack suddenly said, his audials flashing. He turned to Ratchet and handed Prowler over, his optics gleaming. "Go sit on the couch with him. I've got to show you this." He disappeared to the far wall, digging in his bins along the shelves bolted to the bulkhead. Ratchet watched – and then watched Prowler watch Wheeljack – and finally headed for the couch.  
Ratchet sagged against the couch and set Prowler next to him. He kept a careful optic on the sparkling as he crawled across the cushioned surface and peered over the arm rest, trying to find Wheeljack across his quarters.  
Wheeljack came bounding back with something hidden behind his back. His optics were twinkling, and he kneeled down before the couch. Prowler giggled again, watching his every move. "Move him next to you," Wheeljack said softly, winking at Ratchet.  
Ratchet adjusted, keeping one arm around Prowler's small shoulders and his optics fixed on Wheeljack.  
Quickly, Wheeljack moved the hidden something, long and slender, against the front of the couch. He pushed it between the couch cushions, flashing his audial fins at Prowler. Prowler's optics fixed to the split between the couch cushion, trying to find what Wheeljack had slipped between the tight-pressed cushions. Wheeljack's audial fins hummed online again, barely illuminated, and he started rumbling in the back of his vocalizer.  
Pretend roaring, Wheeljack flicked a large wrench up from between the couch cushions, waving it toward Prowler. The head was painted, a rough image of a Mech-o-Saur character messily drawn over the gears and bite. Wheeljack scooted the wrench forward, pretending to roar and race at Prowler as the wrench cum Mech-o-Saur rose from between the couch cushions.  
Prowler shrieked. He pitched sideways, leaning against Ratchet as laughter tore from his vocalizer.  
Wheeljack pulled the wrench back, pulling it down until it disappeared between the couch cushions. Prowler giggled, humming, and watched the dark crack carefully.  
Roaring again, Wheeljack made the Mech-o-Saur wrench reappear, again moving toward Prowler with pretend roars and chortles. Prowler laughed, falling against Ratchet as he completely unbalanced himself in his glee.  
Ratchet couldn't stop the wide grin that broke over his faceplates. Primus, it was too adorable for words, and with Prowler giggling at the top of his vocalizer, his tiny warm body pressed against his side, and Wheeljack's mischievous playfulness on full display, Ratchet's spark melted in every which way. His hand rubbed at Prowler's back as the sparkling shook with the force of his unrestrained laughter.  
Pain followed swiftly, a lingering stab of hurt and resentment.  
Wheeljack continued playing with Prowler, making the Mech-o-Saur wrench rise and fall from the couch. His optics were gleaming, joy and love bursting from his gaze, and he stole a quick glance to Ratchet. His gaze softened, tenderness and hope mixing within.  
Slowly, Ratchet smiled back.

***

All in all, Jazz had far too much time to think on his hands. The disappearance of the Decepticons had left a decided void in the war. While before, the combined Human-Autobot alliance had thought they'd routed the Decepticons and had sent them into hiding, and now, with the Decepticons' flight from Earth, no one was quite sure what was going on. Was the war still on? Were the Decepticons on their way back? The uncertainty was thick and choking, strung through the entire Ark and beating on the mechs' processor at every turn. Compounding the confusion was a distinct sense of shame. They'd beaten the Decepticons, and then the Decepticons had risen up and beat them back. They'd stolen a human space shuttle, destroyed the United States Space command and NASA research center, devastated the humans' satellite and technology field, and then blasted off to parts unknown.  
All in all, the situation looked pretty good for the Decepticons… and the Autobots had ended up caught with their gearbox hanging out.  
It all made for tense negotiations with the humans regarding the future of their alliance.  
For Jazz, the lull and uncertainty in the war had led his processor down the unhappy circuit path of "what now?" Something similar had happened just after the first routing of the Decepticons. He'd been adrift, a spy and super-soldier in a post-war rebuilding phase, and Jazz hadn't known what to do. He'd been restless, searching for any itch to scratch, any circuit to burn, and he'd finally taken off with Sunstreaker on an auto show around the country. That had led to everything else, and, as they said, nothing was ever the same again.  
How true it was. First the twins' revelations. Their relationship. Their sparkling.  
Jazz's friendship with Prowl, which led to … this.  
Sighing heavily, Jazz threw his tablet down on his desk and leaned his helm in both of his hands, his elbows propped up on the desktop surface. He swallowed, and his optics spotted the fortified cube resting on the edge of his desk. His circuits were waning, and it had been over an hour since he'd fueled.  
He shook his helm and grabbed for the energon. One long pull from the additive-enriched energon had his systems revving just a little faster. It was incredible, how much energy his body was burning through. He felt like an absolute glutton.  
His terminal chimed, signaling the end of the dayshift. Jazz leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his forehelm. What now? Retreat back to his quarters and sit in solitude, offlining early as his body exhausted itself with building his sparkling within him? Play more music at deafening levels, trying to escape his own thoughts? Read one of the tablets on sparklings Ratchet had not-so-politely ordered him to study?  
Jazz was tired of it all. He shook his helm, sighing again, and drained the rest of his cube. He had an hour until he had to reenergize again. Perhaps he could head to the Rec room, hang out with a few of his friends. He'd been avoiding everyone, and, thankfully, everyone had avoided him right back. The rumor was out that he and Prowl had split, though no one knew why. No one pressed, either. Thank Primus.  
Groaning, Jazz pushed himself to his feet. His whole body ached. He felt heavy and full, and completely unbalanced. He couldn't fight off Fireflight if the bumbling Aerialbot decided to take him on. Frustration curled through his lines. This wasn't him. Not at all, not in any way. The looming darkness rose from Jazz's spark once more, beckoned by his frustration. He pushed it aside. He needed a distraction, any distraction to busy his processor.  
His mind made up, Jazz headed for the Rec room. Few mechs passed him the hall, and they all nodded politely, if distantly, in greeting. Jazz had turned into a recluse in the past month, and the crew was letting him be.  
The Rec room was slowly filling with mechs when Jazz arrived. His first thought was to grab another energon cube – that walk from his office to the Rec room had really taken something out of him – but he snorted to himself and headed for an empty table instead. He wasn't about to take a fortified cube in front of the mechs. The deep magenta would be a certain giveaway to his condition, and any regular cube just made his tanks ache. Jazz checked his chronometer. 50 minutes until his next cube.  
Blaster arrived, and Jazz grinned at his friend. He waved, expecting Blaster to make his way over to his table, but all Blaster did was wave back and head for the table with Smokescreen, Wheeljack, and Perceptor. Blaster had a stack of tablets in his hand and he passed them out as soon as he sat down. Perceptor and Smokescreen had small stack of tablets with them as well. Jazz frowned, watching the display as he tried not to feel slighted.  
Ultimately, no one came to sit with him, and Jazz was left feeling like a ghost on board his own ship. He tapped at the tabletop, watching the crew laugh and relax all around him. They had their lives, their friends and lovers and their off-duty pursuits, and Jazz's sudden and silent reappearance in the Rec room was a minor blip on their radar. Jazz stared down at the table as his fingers picked at a small gouge in the slick surface. This hadn't been a grand idea after all. 20 minutes in, and he only felt more alone than he did in his office. Where was his grand plan now? What strategy now, super-soldier? Jazz snorted to himself.  
"Why, hello there," a low voice purred as the mech speaking stopped behind Jazz's chair. "Look who's made his stunning reappearance." Tracks grabbed the back of Jazz's chair and swopped around his shoulder, smirking down. "Welcome back to the land of the living."  
A tiny grin broke over Jazz's faceplates. Of course, leave it to Tracks to seek him out. He threw a wry smile Tracks' way and gestured to the seat across the table for Tracks to sit in. "How's it going?"  
Tracks sat in the chair next to Jazz, totally ignoring Jazz's proffered seat across from him. One arm stayed draped over the back of Jazz's seat. "What's been happening with you, Jazz?" Tracks peered at him carefully, his optics narrowing.  
Jazz shrugged and looked away. "Been busy. You know, the Decepticons."  
"Are gone." Tracks waved his hand flippantly. "Good riddance. Now, all we need to do is find a way to get ourselves off this rock and get away from those slagging humans."  
Jazz's snorted and shook his helm. _Leave it to Tracks_. "Won't you miss Raoul?" He tried for humor.  
"Well, he can come with us." Tracks grinned. "The rest… eh." Tracks shrugged and winked Jazz's way.  
Shaking his helm again, Jazz turned away from Tracks, looking over the Rec room. He really shouldn't have come. This was a bad idea. Jazz knew what was coming, and he waited for it, mentally counting down inside his helm. _3…2…1_  
"So… You and Prowl." Track's optic ridges rose, a question in his gaze and a smirk on his lips. "Can't say I didn't see that coming, though. You two weren't made for each other at all." Tracks sighed dramatically and pressed on, heedlessly forging into territory no other 'bot would go. "He's all boring logic and protocol. You need a mech with more life in them, more vitality. More… passion." Tracks grinned slyly, eyeing Jazz's profile.  
A firm hand clamped down on Jazz's shoulder. Jazz nearly upended the table as he jumped in his seat, and his helm whipped over his shoulder.  
Mirage stared back, his optics burning bright as he stared down at Jazz. "Jazz," Mirage said gravely, his voice tuned to his most formal and commanding tone. "I have the reports you've been asking for. Do you have time to go over the data?" He held a darkened tablet out to Jazz.  
Bless Mirage and his beautiful duplicity. Jazz nodded back, sliding back into his officer role. "I think that's best, Mirage. We really need to get this taken care of." Jazz stood slowly, pushing himself back from the table.  
Tracks stared at Jazz, disappointment scrawled over his face. "Coming back later?" He chimed hopefully.  
Jazz shrugged, forcing a grin. "Dunno. Depends on the intel." He waved at Tracks and followed Mirage out of the Rec room.  
Mirage cast him a droll look, complete with raised optic ridges, as soon as they were in the hallway. Jazz groaned and shook his helm. "Don't ask. I don't even know why I came here tonight." He tried to smile at Mirage, but his already sour mood had plummeted in the Rec room. "Thanks for rescuing me."  
Mirage stiffened, squaring his shoulders. He held out the tablet for Jazz. "I really do have something to give you," he said. His jaw ground together, neck cables clenching.  
Jazz frowned, staring at Mirage. He looked ready for a fight. "What?" Jazz took the tablet, pressing on the activation button. "You don't have any reports for me. What is this?"  
The tablet's screen onlined, displaying a slow slideshow of digital images captured from a double date over six months ago between Mirage and Hound and Jazz and Prowl. They had packed up some energon and headed out, spending the day exploring a natural park. The sun was warm and brilliant, the park nearly deserted, and the four of them had had a fantastic time.  
Jazz's vocalizer stuttered, static falling from his mouth as his optics flared behind his visor. He watched the scroll of photos slide across the display: him lounging on his side and one elbow, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. Prowl sitting prim next to him, smiling at the camera as Jazz gazed up at Prowl. Jazz laughing, his helm thrown back, a cube in his hand as Prowl smiled wide, staring straight at Jazz. The two of them walking in hand in hand ahead of Mirage and Hound.  
"Hound and I were doing some cleaning," Mirage said stiffly. "Found these. I thought you might want them," he said dismissively, trying not to look like he was preparing for Jazz's ire and wrath.  
Instead, Jazz sighed, long and soft. "Primus," he whispered. One finger rose, stroking over the tablet's screen as an image of Prowl sending a wry, optic-ridge-rising smirk Jazz's way filled the screen. Jazz swallowed, but when he spoke, static still clung to his vocalizer. "That was a pretty great day, huh?"  
Mirage stared back at Jazz. "Yeah, Jazz. It was." He hesitated. "Want to talk?"  
Jazz's finger stroked over Prowl's image again, slowly. "I don't know what to do, Mirage."

***

::I wanna tell him, Sunny!:: Sideswipe was practically vibrating with excitement as he sat on the floor of their quarters next to his brother. Prowl sat across from them, playing with Prowler as the little sparkling crawled on his play blanket between the three mechs.  
::We don't even know if it really happened…:: Sunstreaker shifted, but a small grin curled over his faceplates.  
::Sunny.:: Sideswipe cast a wry look his brother's way. ::You think this isn't what it is? Think it's just really, really great interfacing lingering almost a full day later?::  
Sunstreaker chuckled.  
Prowl looked up at the yellow twin as if he'd suddenly grown a new helm. "What's so funny?" He looked down at Prowler. The sparkling was stacking blocks with Prowl, his attention focused on keeping them steady and level.  
::Good job keeping it quiet and secret-like, Sunshine,:: Sideswipe drawled across their new bond. He grinned at Sunstreaker and Sunstreaker reached out, punching his brother in the shoulder playfully.  
"What is going on with you too?" Prowl's gaze bounced from one to the other, suspicious.  
::I'm gonna tell him!:: Sideswipe was quivering with excitement, and his optics bore into Sunstreaker's, brilliant and gleeful.  
Sunstreaker smiled and turned to Prowl. "We bonded," he said simply.  
"I was gonna tell him!" Sideswipe cried. He punched Sunstreaker back, a little harder than Sunstreaker had on his shoulder. "Slagger!"  
Again, Sunstreaker chuckled, and his arm reached out, looping around Sideswipe's until he had his brother's hand pinned down. He wound their fingers together. ::You were taking too long.::  
"Hmph." Sideswipe squeezed his brother's hand and turned to Prowl.  
Prowl scrunched up his face, his mouth half-open, optic ridges raised to the top of his helm, disbelief and shock and absolute confusion falling from his gaze. "But… but that's… that's just a myth," he finally sputtered. "Romantic drivel from bad pulp fiction."  
"Yeah, we thought so too," Sideswipe chimed, unfazed by Prowl's disbelief. He felt his brother's smugness over their new bond. "But it's real. We really, really bonded. Last night."  
Prowl frowned again. "How?"  
"Great interfacing," Sunstreaker said bluntly. He grinned, a feral pull back of his lips into a full denta-baring smile.  
"Sunny!" Sideswipe laughed aloud, throwing his helm back. Prowl's expression twisted, and he arched a dry optic ridge toward both brothers. "There was a little more to it than that." ::You're gonna make him crash!:: Sideswipe sent across their bond.  
::Just playing around:: Sunstreaker mentally shrugged. ::You always want me to be more 'me.'::  
::And I love it.:: Sideswipe sent back. ::And you're carrying him to the medbay when he offlines.::  
Sunstreaker chuckled again.  
"Care to explain?" Prowl's optics again bounced between the twins. "Or do you two need to go back to the medbay?"  
"No way!" Sideswipe shuddered, happy to be free. "Ratchet was furious with us when we got back there this morning." They had to report to the medbay every day to continue working on Sideswipe's physical therapy. "We were a little bit late," he added guiltily.  
"'A little bit late?'" Prowl repeated, his tone mocking.  
Sunstreaker looked entirely too pleased with himself as Sideswipe continued, not the least bit shamed. "Well! It's been a while, Prowl! I mean, it wasn't like we were trying to piss Ratchet off by 'facing when we were supposed to be there working on therapy."  
"I tried to tell him it was cross-training," Sunstreaker grunted, trying to cover his smirk. He reached for Prowler, tickling his sparkling's side to check in on him. Prowler twitched away, intently focused on his block towers. "And that it was equally as important as his therapy."  
Prowl threw his helm back and laughed. He could just imagine Ratchet's expression to Sunstreaker's droll, arrogant quip. "I don't see any new welds on you, Sunny," he finally said. "How'd you manage to escape what I am sure was his furious reaction?"  
Sunstreaker grinned again. "I had Prowler in my arms."  
"Ahh, the sparkling defense." Prowl reached out and ruffled a hand over Prowler's helm. Prowler gazed up at Prowl, smiling as he held out a block. Prowl took it gently and set it atop one of the structures Prowler was creating. Prowler frowned and moved it to another tower.  
"Truly, though," Prowl finally said. "What makes you think you're romantically bonded?" He peered back at the twins, curiosity replacing his disbelief.  
"Well, we've already got the twin bond," Sideswipe began slowly. "And that's 'cause we're split sparks. Our sparks still have that quantum resonance stuff that Wheeljack tried to explain."  
"Blah blah," Sunstreaker interjected, not even looking at Sideswipe.  
"Yeah," Sideswipe continued, as if Sunstreaker's interruption was perfectly normal and expected. "So, that stuff exists, right? We know that somehow, quantum stuff is working between our sparks, and we can feel each other's mood and feelings." He waved his hand through the air, trying to encompass the complexity of their barely-understood twin bond.  
Prowl nodded dryly, one optic ridge raised at the heavily abbreviated scientific explanation. He'd seen their twin bond at work before. Images, feelings, sensations somehow transmitted between the brothers, and sometimes even raw, powerful spikes of emotions and quick words. Sideswipe had told Prowl once of Sunstreaker's absolutely panicked and terrified reach for his brother just before he'd been abducted by the Seekers when they had tried to steal Prowler's spark. It had been terrifying to hear Sideswipe speak about the horror of the moment.  
"But," Sunstreaker interrupted again, taking over the conversation. His vocalizer was low, his voice pitched deep, and he spoke with an earnesty that Prowl had rarely seen. "All that romance stuff claims that sparks that bond choose each other, right? They choose to entangle."  
Prowl's optics ridge rose at Sunstreaker's seeming knowledge of quantum physics.  
"What if we chose to entangle ourselves?" Sunstreaker finished. "We're split sparks, so we're already half way there. We could have decided to go all the way though."  
"In that case," Prowl mused softly, his processor turning over Sunstreaker's words carefully. "Your split sparks may have decided to unify. Quantumly, your sparks may now be whole, and you're -" He hesitated, then shut his vocalizer before he continued.  
"The mech we were supposed to be before we became twins?" Sideswipe finished for Prowl.  
Silently, Prowl nodded.  
Both twins grinned, mirror images of each other. "That's exactly what it feels like," Sideswipe whispered. He squeezed his brother's hand again. Sunstreaker pulled their conjoined hands to his face and pressed a soft kiss against his brother's wrist.  
Incredible. Prowl slowly smiled, taking in the whiplash-inducing change in the twins' behavior toward each other. "Did you talk to Ratchet?" Prowl asked softly.  
Sunstreaker grunted and shook his helm. "Not yet."  
"He wasn't in the mood," Sideswipe quipped.  
"He did make a weird comment," Sunstreaker added, glancing at Sideswipe.  
"About how unusual you two are acting?" Prowl's optic ridge rose again as he grinned.  
"No!" Sideswipe playfully scowled at Prowl. "He said our sparks were pulsing in perfect synch. And that they hadn't done that before."  
Slowly, Prowl smiled, his gaze turning soft as he gazed at his two friends. "I think congratulations are in order," he whispered. "I never thought those were real."  
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker beamed, their hands squeezing together again. Even Prowler suddenly giggled, clapping his hands as he looked up at Prowl.  
Prowl smiled down at Prowler. The sparkling was through with his construction and he beamed up into Prowl's gaze, ridiculous joy in his optics. Prowl quickly swept over the sparkling's constructions, ready to congratulate Prowler in his building. He froze, however, his vocalizer shorting on static as he stared at the blocks.  
Oblivious, Prowler was already crawling back to Sunstreaker, scampering across the deck on his hands and knees with a huge smile on his faceplates.  
"Unbelievable," Prowl muttered. His optics counted the blocks, adding them up quickly. "I don't believe it…"  
"What's up?" Sideswipe asked, frowning at Prowl. "What's wrong?"  
Prowl stared at Prowler, now in Sunstreaker's arms and mouthing against his wrist. He was hungry, and Sunstreaker laid him down in his arms and lowered his feeding line from his wrist. Prowler started sucking immediately, wrapping his little hands around Sunstreaker's fingers. "He's built a Fibonacci sequence," Prowl whispered. He gestured to the blocks, each tower a sequential integer in a perfect Fibonacci sequence. He'd run out of blocks for the next full integer in the set, and Prowler had instead left a pile of blocks unconstructed instead of building an incorrectly numbered tower.  
Sunstreaker stared down at Prowler, his optics wide. Prowler grinned back to him from around his feeding line, dribbling energon over his lips with a happy gurgle. "He doesn't even know what that is," Sunstreaker grunted.  
"I don't even know what that is," Sideswipe said, shocked. He stared at Prowler, then across to Prowl. "He's spending way too much time with you and Wheeljack. He didn't get it from me," Sideswipe grumbled. Sunstreaker shrugged, bemusement in his gaze.  
"You two are just fine," Prowl assured them, leaning back and bracing himself on his hands. He smiled, watching the small family across from him. These evenings kept him going, these quiet nights with the twins and Prowler where he could relax and forget about everything else.  
Only one more month, and he would be a parent as well. He'd have a sparkling, a little newly-emerged sparkling. Primus, he'd need the twins' help. Panic crept in at odd moments, scratching at the back of his processor. How was he supposed to do this alone? He never wanted to raise a sparkling all on his own. He'd wanted the family, the deep and unyielding love, the warm, happy household.  
Across from Prowl, Sideswipe smiled and laughed at something Sunstreaker had said over their new bond, and he leaned in close to press a kiss to Sunstreaker's cheek. Sunstreaker's optics dimmed and he leaned back into his brother's touch. Prowler giggled in Sunstreaker's arms, watching his parents. It was the picture of perfect happiness, the family that Prowl had always wanted.  
They'd had their struggle to get to this moment, to be sure. Prowl remembered all the dark nights, the uncertainty and Sideswipe's choking anxiety toward his brother mixed with Sunstreaker's complete and total paranoia.  
Now, they were bonded.  
Sideswipe nuzzled the side of Sunstreaker's face, smiling. Sideswipe had almost died. They'd almost lost it all, but they'd pulled back from the brink.  
Could the same happen for him and Jazz?  
Prowl had done what he could, loved Jazz as much as he could, but there was nothing more he could do. There wasn't anything more he could give. Jazz had turned him away at every opportunity, pushed away his every attempts to try and talk, to try to reach out, to try and create some understanding of their unexpected situation. Jazz had shut him out at each and every turn.  
Prowl had bought back the tablet he'd taken from Ratchet yesterday. At some point, Jazz would be by to pick up the tablet as they decided how to name their sparkling in the coldest, most clinical way possible. Jazz suggested a small handful of names, and Prowl had countered "Dub Step" with "Dragnet," crossed out "Stalk" entirely, and circled Jazz's fourth suggestion as one he truly liked. He'd have to wait for Jazz's next checkup to see what Jazz thought going forward.  
It was also the first time Prowl hadn't signed his tablet to Jazz with "I love you."  
He had to move on. He had to be strong. He had to get ready for the future, and for the sparkling that would be looking to him soon. He would get through this. He would.  
Prowl's spark lurched as he watched the twins again. As long as he kept telling himself he'd get through it, he might actually begin to believe it.

***

Jazz palmed open his quarters and motioned Mirage inside. "Sorry for the mess," he said softly. "I haven't had any visitors in a while."  
Mirage's gaze swept the inside of Jazz's quarters, taking in the pile of spent cubes and tubes of additives on Jazz's desk and table, and the pile of pads precariously balanced on the end of Jazz's couch. He'd pushed most of his furniture to one side of his quarters, and a small space was set off to the side of Jazz's berthing area.  
A metal miniberth on a small, wheeled cart sat lonely in cleared space, piled with medbay blankets.  
Mirage stared as Jazz straightened the pile of pads on the couch, shoving them out of the way so Mirage could sit. He carried a handful of the empty cubes over to his desk, adding them to the pile, and then pulled another full cube and tube of additives from his shelves. "Have a seat," Jazz grunted. "I really need another cube though."  
Watching, Mirage's optic ridges shot high as Jazz voluntarily mixed the additives and started downing his cube. It had been like stripping paint to get Jazz to fuel up while out on the mission. Now, he was fueling regularly and taking care of himself?  
Jazz gestured to the miniberth Mirage had been eyeing across his quarters. "Wheeljack brought that by a few days ago. Made it for the sparkling." He had gotten to the point where he wasn't stuttering anymore when he spoke about the sparkling. It was really happening, and somehow that had settled into him. It was really going to be happening.  
Mirage nodded as he sat down on the edge of the couch. He watched as Jazz crossed his quarters and slowly sat on the edge of his berth, groaning a bit and shifting around as he tried to get comfortable. There weren't any outward signs of Jazz's condition, but Mirage could read the signs of discomfort as clear as day. "How are you, Jazz?" Mirage finally asked.  
A long sigh, heavy and loud, filled the room. Jazz snorted, chuckling darkly, and shook his helm. "I've got no fragging idea, Mirage," he whispered.  
"What do you mean?" Mirage watched as Jazz took another long drag from his cube.  
"I don't even know who I am anymore," Jazz sighed. "I'm… I'm totally lost, Mirage." His voice was hollow, and he spoke without looking at the spy. "What am I doing? The Decepticons are gone, and there's nothing left for me to do. What the slag does a soldier do when the war's done?"  
"You go on living, Jazz." Mirage frowned, watching Jazz flinch. He tried to hide it, but failed. "What do you live for?"  
Jazz shook his helm. "I don't have a fragging clue." He stared down into his cube, searching for answers. "Last time, I was making a life with Prowl. I was, you know, trying to figure out how to make that kind of a life work." He snorted. "That failed about as spectacularly as it could have."  
"It only failed because you blew it." Mirage snapped. "You ruined it, Jazz."  
"Of course I did," Jazz shot back. He finally looked at Mirage, his visor burning back into the spy's gaze. "Don't you think I know that?" He sighed, then swallowed and looked away. "I'm not that mech. I'm not the kind of mech than can just give up on my life and give up my control. Fall in love. See where life takes me."  
"That's not giving up on life…" Mirage breathed. He shook his helm, disbelief etched on his face "I saw you, Jazz. I saw how happy you were."  
"And look what happened." Jazz stared back at Mirage.  
Silence. "You know, a sparkling isn't the end of the world, Jazz," Mirage finally said. "I know you didn't want one, but it's not like you're dead."  
Jazz smiled mirthlessly. "Some days I feel dead." He looked away, staring at the miniberth. "I'm lost, Mirage. I have no idea who I am and I have even less of an idea who I'll be once this sparkling is here." He shook his helm. "I'm living a life that isn't mine."  
"You know, it doesn't have to be this way-"  
"I can't just give up on my life, Mirage," Jazz cut in. "I can't just give up my control and let my life go where the winds and fate take me. I'm not that mech."  
"Things happen that we don't account for." Mirage swallowed. So many things in his life had been outside of his control. It was almost unfathomable to imagine he had any control to begin with. "We react and roll with it, and that's our life."  
"That's not my life," Jazz said softly. "I knew everything. I controlled everything. I even controlled the Decepticons." His visor glowed, memories of the height of the war playing through his mind. "We had them so many times, you know? Had them playing right into our hands?"  
"Jazz…" Mirage shook his helm. "You can't control another mech. That's a lonely life you're advocating."  
Jazz nodded. "Yeah, I know," he snapped. "But I lived on my terms. And it was alright. I liked it that way." Countless relationships, berth-hopping and interfacing and laughing nights, all giving way to Jazz ending the relationship on his terms and in his way. He'd never stayed committed. He'd never stayed, period. He'd never been in love, had never lost control of his spark.  
Until Prowl.  
"You can talk to Prowl," Mirage finally said, hesitantly. He gestured to the tablet of pictures Jazz had hidden in his subspace.  
Jazz shook his helm. "No." He set down his cube on the berth surface, still shaking his helm. "No."  
"Jazz-"  
"It's probably time for you to head out, Mirage," Jazz interrupted. "I gotta hit the berth soon. I'm so slagging weak it's not even funny." He tried to smile, but it was a shadow of his former enthusiasm.  
Sighing, Mirage stood, and he held Jazz's dark and underpowered gaze for a long moment. "You can comm me whenever you want, Jazz," he said softly. "You don't have to be alone."  
"Good night." Jazz waved, ignoring Mirage's words.  
Mirage sighed and headed for the door. He slipped out without another word, casting one last look over his shoulder.  
Slowly, Jazz moved across his quarters. He stood over the miniberth, looking at the small resting place where his sparkling was going to recharge. It was so bare, so cold, so empty. Jazz reached for the pile of blankets Wheeljack had brought and shook one out, then draped it across the miniberth. He grabbed another, tucking it down around the base, and a third, near the top, creating a nest of colorful soft fabric, ready and waiting for a tiny sparkling. His sparkling.  
Jazz stared at the waiting miniberth until his systems chimed, warning of imminent shut down. Reluctantly, he headed for his berth, but just before he offlined, Jazz pulled out the tablet Mirage had given him and onlined the display. Prowl's face, happy and smiling, filled the screen. One finger brushed over the display as he rested the tablet against the berth.  
He stared at the display – and at Prowl – until he slipped offline and into a dreamless recharge.

***

Wheeljack fidgeted, hesitating outside Ratchet's door. His hands wrung together, fingers nervously clenching. He'd spent all night and all day rehearsing his little speech, but now that it was time to act, his courage seemed to have fled.  
He replayed the facts, the raw facts that had led him to Ratchet's door in a quivering heap of nervous circuits. Ratchet had come to him yesterday and helped with the shuttle. He'd come again that evening, hanging out with him and Prowler until Prowler was ready to recharge. Wheeljack had hoped that Ratchet would stay after the sparkling fell offline and that maybe they could finally talk, but Ratchet scooted out the door as if he was on fire just after Wheeljack started softly nursing Prowler from his bottle and rocking him into recharge.  
He hadn't seen Ratchet all day, but his systems were keyed up, his processor racing, and all he could think about was that Ratchet might – just might – be open to talking to Wheeljack.  
He fretted again, sighing as he shifted across his feet. He'd faced down Decepticons, crazed gestalt combiners, and Grimlock in a bad mood. None of that was as hard as reaching out for Ratchet's door.  
He quickly slapped at the palm pad, requesting entry. He held his breath.  
A long moment of silence stretched thick, and Wheeljack nearly offlined where he stood. Primus, was Ratchet not even in there?  
Finally, the door slid open, and Ratchet's beautiful, confused frame filled the doorway. He stared at Wheeljack, shocked.  
Wheeljack's audial fins flared, staying brilliantly illuminated. He swallowed, his optics traveling the length of his ex-lover's body. Primus, he loved Ratchet so much.  
"Wheeljack?" Ratchet asked, his voice heavy with confusion. "What are you doing here? Is there a medical emergency?" He was already moving, already frowning as he turned to head back inside to check his terminal.  
Wheeljack reached out, grabbing Ratchet's arm. "No, there's no emergency," he said quickly. His hand fell from Ratchet's arm as Ratchet looked back at him, confusion slowly being replaced with wariness. "I, uhh… I…" Wheeljack's vocalizer faded into static.  
Ratchet's helm tilted to the side and he crossed his arms over his chestplates.  
"Look, Ratchet," Wheeljack finally blurted out. "I love you." His hands pushed forward, emphasizing his words. "I love you so slagging much. I love everything about you. I love your processor, and how you can think of things that no one else ever can. I love your body, and how unbelievably sexy you are. I love your humor, and how dry and dark you can get. I love your temper, and how passionate you get. I love everything about you." He paused, dragging in a long inhale. "And I've missed you so much. I cannot stop thinking about you. I cannot stop dreaming about you. I've missed you since the day I left, and I've never regretted a decision more in my entire life. I wish I could take that entire day back." He swallowed, his gears grinding as he tried to speak too fast. "I was so stupid. I'm the stupidest fragger alive to throw you away like that, and I don't blame you for hating me."  
Wheeljack paused, his breaths coming fast and short. Ratchet's mouth dropped open, and he stared at Wheeljack with unabashed shock. "I love you, Ratchet," Wheeljack pressed on, shaking slightly. His hands moved frantically, gesticulating as he spoke. "And I want to make things right. I don't know what's going on with you and Ironhide, and if you're happy with him, then I won't ever bring this up again. I'll be happy for you, and I'll be supportive, and I'll leave you two alone." It hurt to say that, and he bounced on his feet, gathering his courage for the next part.  
"But, you came to the hangar deck yesterday and helped me, and then you came to me with Prowler last night, too, and I just got to thinking…" Wheeljack inhaled deep. "Maybe you might miss me... too? Maybe you wanted to… talk?" His voice faded away lamely.  
He swallowed and surged on as Ratchet's mouth pressed closed, his lips thinning to a firm line. "If there's any hope, Ratchet. If there's any chance. If there's any room in your spark to give a slagger like me another chance… Can we try?"  
Silence. "I just want you to be happy," Wheeljack whispered. "And... maybe I can be the one to make you happy again?"  
Behind Ratchet, a dark shape moved, heading for the door. Wheeljack was so fixed on Ratchet, staring into his dark and turgid optics, that he didn't notice until Ironhide was right behind Ratchet, one hand on his hip as he stared over his shoulder at Wheeljack. A bright smile stretched across his faceplates.  
Groaning, Wheeljack slumped sideways. His helm thunked against the doorjamb, and he slowly thudded his forehelm against the metal as Ironhide turned to Ratchet.  
"You went to the hangar yesterday?" Ironhide's grin never faded. His optics twinkled.  
Ratchet grumbled and looked away. "Yeah." His optics slid to Wheeljack, resting his forehelm against the doorjamb with an absolute miserable expression spread out over his face.  
Ironhide's smile grew. "Well, that's my cue," he said softly. He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss against Ratchet's chevron. His lips lingered, hovering on the plating.  
Wheeljack offlined his optics. He didn't want to see.  
Ironhide pulled away from Ratchet. He squeezed past Wheeljack, slipping into the corridor. "Remember what I said," he called back to Ratchet.  
Ratchet smiled back, faint and thankful, and nodded. "Remember what I said," he whispered back.  
Ironhide nodded. He turned and headed down the corridor, whistling as he walked.  
Ratchet shook his helm and watched him leave, grumbling under his breath. Finally, he turned and stared at Wheeljack. The engineer was a miserable slump of dejection and sorrow, and his optics were staring at Ratchet with nothing short of complete misery buried in their depths. "I deserved that," Wheeljack mumbled.  
"Get in here." Ratchet hauled Wheeljack into his quarters, dragging him by his elbow. Wheeljack stumbled in after Ratchet, nearly tripping, but he righted himself and stood just inside Ratchet's quarters as he gazed over the 'date' he'd interrupted between Ratchet and Ironhide. His optics refused to look at the berth, instead crawling over the half-finished cubes of high-grade and the soft candle lit on the coffee table.  
"What do you want, 'Jack?"  
"You." Wheeljack's optics met Ratchet's. "Everything with you."  
"Everything?"  
"Everything." Wheeljack sighed and looked away. "I'm really sorry for interrupting you guys-"  
"You won't run away again if things get tough? Won't bail if there's another hard patch? Won't leave me all alone when I really need you most?"  
Wheeljack turned back to Ratchet, staring at him with too-bright, perplexed optics. "Never again," Wheeljack breathed. His hands started to tremble. "Never, ever again. I don't want to go another day without you, Ratchet. It hurts too much, not being with you." He swallowed, the gears in his throat rising and falling.  
Slowly, too slowly, Ratchet reached for Wheeljack's hand. He threaded their fingers together, his body remembering the touch and feel of Wheeljack's plating. He smiled, his thumb automatically stroking over Wheeljack's palm. "I need some time," Ratchet choked out. "I need to learn to trust you again. And… figure out who you are. You've changed, Wheeljack. This sparkling stuff has really changed you."  
Wheeljack nodded, not trusting himself to speak.  
"But…" Ratchet continued, peering at Wheeljack. "I'm open to your attempts to woo me." He grinned softly, his words an echo of their first courtship. Wheeljack had been stubbornly trying to court an oblivious Ratchet, and after Ratchet had finally snapped at him, demanding to know why Wheeljack was always underfoot and in the way, Wheeljack had snapped right back that he had been attempting to woo him.  
They were dating a week later. Hadn't ever been apart since. Until this.  
Wheeljack's trembles increased, taking over his body, and he nodded furiously. He held Ratchet's gaze, his optics burning, and finally, Wheeljack pitched forward, falling into the medic's arms. He buried his face in Ratchet's neck and whispered over and over, "I love you."  
They clung to each other, shaking and softly whispering into each other's audials as bitter emotions and pained memories poured through them. The harsh feelings, the hurt, the recrimination. The agonized loneliness. The desperate wish for each other back in their arms. All spoken in soft whispers and pained sighs and carefully stroked over arms and backplates.  
Finally, Ratchet pulled Wheeljack to the berth and laid down, holding his lover tight. Their arms and legs wound around each other, and they offlined together, staring into each other's gazes as Wheeljack whispered promises to make things right amidst his words of love.


	13. Chapter 13

Prowl stopped short as he headed out of his quarters.  
"Can we speak in private, Prowl?" Mirage crossed his arms over his chest and planted his feet wide, blocking Prowl's path.  
Hesitating, Prowl spoke low. "Is this about Jazz?"  
Mirage nodded.  
Shaking his helm, Prowl pushed past Mirage. "I need to get to the Command Deck." He couldn't think about Jazz. He just couldn't. He was trying to push himself to move on. Jazz clearly had. Jazz wasn't spark-broken or morose. Prowl had to get over this, had to get over Jazz.  
"Prowl!"  
Prowl didn't turn around.  
"I'm worried," Mirage called after him, speaking softer. His voice carried down the corridor just to Prowl's audials. "He's unstable. He's not himself. He wasn't right out on mission, and he's not doing well now. I am worried, Prowl."  
Prowl finally stopped and sighed. He looked over his shoulder, swallowing. "My spark is sick with worry, Mirage," he choked. "But he's made his wishes clear. He wants nothing to do with me."  
"I'm not entirely convinced of that." Mirage moved down the corridor to Prowl's side. "He's lost. He does not know how to feel." Mirage stared down at Prowl's profile. The SIC was trembling.  
Prowl's optics squeezed shut. He exhaled, sagging into the harsh gust of breath. "Fraggit Mirage," Prowl whispered. "He's not the only one."  
Silently, Mirage watched Prowl escape down the corridor.

***

Despite the tumult and near-daily catastrophe that had become the Autobots' reality, shift changes and briefings continued on onboard the Ark. The mechs clung to the routine, finding comfort in the familiarity. Mornings on board the Ark were much the same as they always had been – mechs rising and greeting one another, briefing their replacements, and generally trying to connect, in all the little ways that friends and long-time comrades did. Teases and jabs here, a quip there. A light punch delivered to a shoulder. Grins and soft chuckles, promises to see each other later in the Rec room. It was more than just a ship – the Ark, and all of her mechs, had become a home.  
Dark monitors, usually keyed to the humans' newscast, seemed to be the only outward difference on the Command Deck to anyone watching. The state of the human-Autobot alliance was still undetermined. The Autobots were regarded with heavy suspicion and outright hostility from a major portion of the populace. Prime hadn't won any political favors by refusing to speak with the Earth delegates until the Ark crew had regained their health and functioning. Finally, after the long vigils were over and the mechs were on the mend, Prime agreed to head to New York City and to the United Nations, ready to talk to the human delegates.  
He was taking Prowl and Ironhide with him for two weeks.  
Jazz was remaining behind, taking charge of the Ark in their absence.  
Prime and Ironhide were down in the hangar, working with Silverbolt and Skyfire on flight checks and pre-departure prep. Jazz was on the Command Deck, overseeing the morning shift change. He'd gotten there early, unable to recharge for long the night before. He was silent, a statue in the center of the deck, unmoved by the community around him and untouched and unnoticed by the mechs at all.  
He was alone.  
Prowl's optics seized onto Jazz as soon as he entered the Command Deck. His spark clenched; he didn't know when his spark would ever stop shorting out at just the sight of Jazz before him. He swallowed, trying to force his clenched gears down his throat. _So much for moving on,_ he grunted to himself, scathing.  
Prowl hung back, his optics dragging over Jazz's body. It was so rare to actually see Jazz these days. He hadn't been on the Command Deck in weeks. The 3IC had become a recluse, hiding in his office or in his quarters and never venturing out. Rumor had hit, hard, that Prowl and Jazz had split. Prowl – wisely – hadn't been asked about the rumors by any mech. Jazz wasn't available to question.  
And, quite honestly, the Ark and her crew had other things to worry about than the love lives of their officers.  
He took in Jazz's long lines, the faded and dulled white paint, the chipped blue lines on his frame. His shoulders, slumped. His backplate, sagging. Jazz's arms were crossed, and his fingers grasped his elbows, digging in. Exhaustion screamed from his frame.  
Prowl barely summoned the energy to sigh. Jazz wasn't the only one exhausted. Prowl was spark-exhausted, too tired to carry on most days. He struggled to envision his future, flip flopping between the domestic bliss that the twins had found, and which he idolized, and the raw, aching emptiness of his dead certainty that he would be alone in this. He would be alone in raising their sparkling. Perhaps Jazz would want to share. Perhaps he'd want to have time and input with their sparkling. But Prowl's helm was filled with lonely nights and lonely days, raising their sparkling with all of the memories and dreams that he'd cherished locked inside his tiny plating.  
Finally, Prowl headed toward Jazz. He inhaled deep, cycling his optics. He'd be off the Ark in a few hours, working to repair the alliance. Two weeks yawned before him, two weeks away from the Ark, away from the stares, and away from Jazz, and all of his memories and dreams. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to shout and rage and throw a tantrum. He wanted everything to go back to the way it was. He wanted to forget about ever loving Jazz at all.  
Jazz didn't move a micron, didn't twitch at all as Prowl stopped beside him. His vents never changed, and he showed no sign at all of recognizing – or caring – about Prowl's presence.  
Nothing new. Prowl waited, foolishly, trying to see if Jazz would acknowledge him at all.  
Silence.  
Swallowing, Prowl fixed his optics on the mechs settling into their dayshift routines. Mirage was replacing Windcharger at the comms station. Red Alert was back from the Rec room with another cube of energon. He was pulling doubles, which was negotiated down from the triples he wanted to pull. Hot Spot and Streetwise were discussing readouts and holograms at the ops terminal. Trailbreaker was yawning.  
"We are scheduled to depart in three hours," Prowl began. He didn't look at Jazz. "Prime and Ironhide are working on pre-flight preparations now." His voice was clipped and low. "I have final command instructions for you, Jazz."  
Jazz didn't move. His jaw clenched, once.  
"Keep the Ark and the crew on tight restrictions. No incoming or outgoing personnel or communications. Maintain patrols at enhanced security levels. Continue to work with Cosmos on scanning for any sign of the Decepticons." Prowl stopped. He looked away, turning his helm from Jazz. He just couldn't take the rejection any more.  
Slowly, Jazz shifted, gazing sidelong at Prowl. His optics fixed to Prowl's turned face, running over the length and depth of his features. "How long will this mission last?" Jazz finally asked. His voice was barely above a grunt.  
Prowl didn't turn back. "Two weeks, at the outside. No matter the state of negotiations, we will be returning at the end of two weeks." He hesitated. "Being present is important to me," he added with a whisper.  
Jazz turned away, before Prowl turned back. He said nothing.  
Prowl spun and moved away. "I'll see you when I get back," he managed to choke out. He headed for Hot Spot and Streetwise, still gesturing to their hologram at Ops.  
Jazz's hands clenched hard into his elbows, his fingers denting his armor plating. He didn't move. He barely breathed. He kept his gaze locked straight ahead.

***

Jazz's processor was clouded, adrift, cast in fog. He could barely think at all, much less think straight. He hadn't recharged much and the lack of rest coupled with his constant under-energized state wore on his circuits. He was exhausted, in every way. His processor was quietly refusing to work with him. Rage, his best emotion, his closest friend, that which had kept all of his other emotions in check, wasn't showing up in his spark. Jazz was off-balance. Mechs swirled around him, chatting, some laughing despite their predicament, and life continued on.  
Jazz felt like a mech on the outside, staring at life being lived without him. He was entirely unnoticed on the Command Deck. He was superfluous. He wasn't necessary. Not at all.  
Emptiness, choking, crashed into his spark. He clenched his jaw again, grinding his denta together. The noise of the Command Deck swirled in his audials, warping and droning. He couldn't hear the words being said anymore, but his fading optics dragged over the mechs before him. Inferno, spending time with Red Alert, leaning his hip against the Security Director's terminal and giving Red Alert his first real break in several shifts. Bumblebee and Cliffjumper teasing Gears, good-naturedly. Trailbreaker taking friendly ribbing from Mirage, caught in another yawn. Prowl, nodding at Hot Spot and Streetwise, the three mechs taking in a hologram of the Ark security perimeter.  
He wasn't connected to any of it. He wasn't connected to these mechs anymore, wasn't a part of their lives. He couldn't saunter over to Red Alert and tease the Security Director alongside Inferno, gently reminding Red Alert that he wasn't disposable, and a rested, comfortable Red Alert was better than an overworked, strung out, and fritzing Red Alert. Bumblebee hadn't spoken to him since he and his team had returned to base. He hadn't even tried. Trailbreaker was showing Mirage a flashy data pad, colorful drawings and sketches of animals flying through outer-space parading across the screen. Mirage's beaming smile and Trailbreaker's shy chuckle carried across the deck, lancing into Jazz's spark.  
He wasn't a part of the crew any longer.  
Sighing, Jazz cycled his optics. His processor was screaming, pounding, and his body was sluggish and nearly unresponsive. All he wanted to do was lie down, rest, and crawl back into his berth. He couldn't even summon the energy to be irritated any more. He rolled his neck, trying to loosen the stiffness that had settled into his cables. Nothing helped.  
His processor throbbed, and snow fritzed across his optics. Jazz swallowed a groan, offlining his optics for the moment. The pounding in his processor increased, and suddenly, his lines were throbbing, screaming, burning with heat and racing flame. He gasped, his optics surging online. Static filled his vision, and the command deck faded away, replaced with distorted snow and interference. Jazz stepped back, one hand on his helm, trying to shake off the sudden dizziness. His arms were numb, burning, and he shuddered, clenching his jaw again.  
All at once, deep within his frame, there was a rend, a tear, a long, slow burn, ripping across his middle. Jazz's hands flew to his waist, his abdomen, trying to stop the suddenly-pulsing waves of agony bursting from his internals. The sparkling! Jazz's processor, still fritzing, still, sluggish, panicked, and his hands pressed against his plating. _What's happening?_  
Mirage's gaze caught on Jazz's frame, stooped, his hands on his abdomen. Mirage narrowed his optics, staring.  
Another burst of raw, burning pain sent Jazz to one knee with a gasp. His optics offlined as he shuddered, and his fingers tried to scratch into his plating.  
Mirage stood, slowly. He frowned.  
Deep within Jazz, a sudden burst of energon burned through his system, soaking his internals from a ragged burst. Finally crying out, Jazz collapsed face first into the decking.  
"Jazz!" Prowl's guttural cry tore across the Command Deck. He ran to Jazz's side, skidding to a stop as he threw himself to the deck beside him. "Jazz, Jazz! Talk to me!" Prowl's hands fluttered over Jazz's shoulders, his helm.  
Mirage appeared at Prowl's elbow, his hands already moving Jazz, rolling him over. Prowl moved, cradling Jazz's helm in his hands, one palm cupping his ex-lover's cheek. Static-filled keens pushed out of Jazz's vocalizer, low and throaty, barely audible. His optics were still offline, squeezed shut, and his fingers trembled over his abdomen plating.  
"Comm Ratchet! Comm Ratchet now!" Prowl hollered, never taking his optics off of Jazz. "Jazz, Primus, talk to me. What's happening?" Beneath Jazz, a pool of energon was spreading, leaking from the seams of his frame.  
"Prowl…." Mirage's vocalizer was low, pitched so only Prowl could hear. "This isn't good." Mechs across the deck had raced over, circling Jazz and peering down at the commotion. Mechs' optics were wide, wild, their vocalizers speechless.  
Somewhere, Prowl heard Red Alert call for Ratchet and the medical team. His one hand remained cupping Jazz's cheek, his thumb stroking just beneath Jazz's visor. Static streaked across the visor's surface, crackling and harsh. Prowl's other hand pressed over Jazz's trembling digits, pressing into his abdomen. Energon pushed through the seams in Jazz's armor, streaking in rivulets down his plating. "No, no…" Prowl whispered. "Jazz!"  
Jazz's whole body began to tremble, shaking in Prowl's arms. His legs kicked out, scrabbling at the decking. One hand turned, his fingers clenching against Prowl's. "P-p-p…" Jazz struggled to speak, his vocalizer shorting as static filled his words.  
"I'm here, I'm here, Jazz!" Prowl's hand squeezed hard into Jazz's, pressing down against his plating. Frantic, Prowl's optics darted over the pool of energon, steadily growing beneath Jazz's frame. "Hang on, Jazz. Ratchet is on his way!" Prowl paused, sparing half an astrosecond to look up. "Ratchet!" he hollered. "Get Ratchet now!"  
Mirage scooted to Jazz's side opposite Prowl. He was kneeling in Jazz's spilled energon, peering at this side seams. So much energon was pouring out of Jazz. Mirage slipped, his knee sliding across the deck in the dark maroon fluorescence.  
Coughing, Jazz's optics slitted open, flickering and trying to online. Prowl squeezed his cheek, leaning low over Jazz's helm, brushing their noses together. He stared into Jazz's flickering optics, trying to hold Jazz to him, to keep him online through sheer force of will alone. "Jazz," Prowl whispered, his vocalizer grating. "Stay with me!"  
Energon bubbled over Jazz's lips, sliding down the side of his face. He coughed again, shuddering. More energon dribbled out, then surged as Jazz coughed. Prowl shifted, trying to clear Jazz's airways. Energon was everywhere – soaking his internals, choking his vents. Prowl could feel the shuddering of Jazz's engine, struggling to fire within Jazz's flooded frame.  
Jazz coughed again, trying to speak. "Sp-sp-" He spasamed, shuddering, and choked on another gush of energon. "Sparkling-" he managed to croak through magenta lips.  
Prowl's optics were wild, crazed, and he clenched Jazz tight. "Ratchet will fix you, Ratchet will take care of you, Jazz, Jazz…" he repeated his words, almost a mantra, a litany, repeating them as he held Jazz's shuddering, leaking frame. Jazz was flooding out, flooding his internals, and he'd already lost so much energon.  
Footsteps rang across the deck, rushing toward Prowl, Jazz, and Mirage. Ratchet's angry bellows finally registered in Prowl's audials. His spark leapt, trembling, and he exhaled hard. He didn't look up, didn't break his hold on Jazz's flickering optics, or move from his press against his body.  
Ratchet bodily pulled Prowl off of Jazz, throwing him backwards and clear. Prowl grunted, growling, and tried to claw his way back to Jazz's, side, but Ratchet and Wheeljack were already hefting Jazz into their arms and setting him on a hover gurney. Mirage was pushing the shocked-frozen crew back, still staring in horror.  
Prowl burst to his feet, intent on racing after Jazz as Ratchet and Wheeljack tore off the Command Deck, but he was blocked. Golden yellow plating stood in his path, and Prowl rammed into Sunstreaker before he knew he was there. Sunstreaker's arms wound around Prowl, grasping him tight, holding him up. Prowl bellowed, pummeling Sunstreaker's plating with his fists as his body trembled and his knees buckled. Screaming, wailing, Prowl buried his helm in Sunstreaker's chest, his fingers grasping onto the golden twin's shoulders, leaving dents. Dark maroon energon was streaked across both of their frames, transferring from Prowl to Sunstreaker. He gasped, hiccupping, his optics offline, and his legs finally gave out. Prowl collapsed into Sunstreaker, hollering wordless cries of rage and anguish into his plating. Sunstreaker held on, holding Prowl up, more gladiator than comforter, as Prowl's world collapsed and his spark shattered in the silence of the interrupted morning on the Command Deck.

***

Energon was everywhere.  
Wheeljack slipped in the viscous fluorescence, then braced himself against the medberth. Jazz's front plating had been cut clean off, from his neck to his legs, and his bare internals and protoform were exposed.  
His gestational tank had burst.  
Energon stored in his tank, protecting and cradling his sparkling, had flooded his internals. His engine was choking, his vents clogged. Energon streaked across his spark chamber, dried and flaking in chunks of dark maroon. Burned ozone clung to Jazz. Energon had spilled and burned against the sparkline descending from Jazz's spark, destabilizing and scorching the sparkline. The gestational tank, burst along the side in a ragged tear, leaked the last remaining energon from within, gurgling and burbling out in a slow, wet slide. Within, Jazz's sparkling weakly thrashed, seizing and shuddering in the drying tank.  
Ratchet had wrenched Jazz's spark chamber open, tearing away the protective shell for First Aid to shock Jazz's spark directly, trying to separate the two sparks. So far, Jazz's sparkling's spark wasn't letting go.  
"Fraggit, another!" Ratchet growled. Jazz's life signs were chaotic. His engine pressure soared against the energon choking his intakes, and the pressure blew out lines all over his body. His sparkling, still inside his – now dry – gestational tank was doing even worse. A mobile monitor sat directly on top of Jazz's tank, scanning the sparkling's not-full-developed form. It warbled in pitch, matching the sparkling's fading energy readings as Jazz's tank finally emptied. The energon within had sustained and energized the sparkling's growing frame as his spark grew out of Jazz's.  
First Aid grimaced and prodded Jazz's spark with another shock from his medical shock stick. Jazz jerked, seizing on the medberth. Wheeljack stared, willing the sparks to separate. The terminal he was monitoring blared. No movement. The sparks weren't separating.  
With the sparkling's spark refusing to separate from Jazz, the sparkling's body was losing power, fast. His power was fading away, leaking out with the energon pooling underneath Jazz and on the floor. If his spark would drop, if his spark would descend, the sparkling might have a chance. If the spark didn't descend, both the sparkling – and most likely Jazz – would offline.  
"C'mon, c'mon," Wheeljack grunted, sliding again on the slick decking. Ratchet growled, furiously glaring at the conjoined sparks.  
The mobile monitor resting on Jazz's tank screamed, a high pitch wail tearing through the medbay. The sparkling's frame energy was dissipating. His frame was offlining, dying, still inside Jazz's now-empty tank.  
"Another!" Ratchet bellowed. "I'm not losing both of them!" He grabbed the laser saw on the medtray, nearly upsetting the cart. "Get those sparks separated!"  
First Aid shuddered before stabbing Jazz's spark once more, driving his shock stick deep into Jazz's spark. He twisted, rotating the shock stick in a tight circle around the protruding sparkling's spark, pulsing out of Jazz's. Burning ozone filled the air, and Jazz's frame shuddered and jerked on the medberth. First Aid started to pull back, grimacing.  
"Don't pull back! Keep going!" Ratchet hollered. "They need to separate!"  
Wheeljack met First Aid's optics over Jazz's seizing body. Smoke filled the space between them, burning and acrid. Fear lined First Aid's optics, shining bright through his visor. Wheeljack swallowed hard and looked away. He couldn't look at Jazz, but everywhere he looked, spilled energon coated the surface. Alarms wailed, screaming, filling the whole medbay with screams and blaring calls for action. _I'm dying!_ The alarm seemed to scream. Wheeljack could hear the fit and thumps from within Jazz's tank as the sparkling seized and shuddered and trembled. It was instinct only, the instinctive thrashing from a barely-alive protoform, struggling against a world it couldn't possible understand.  
Ozone burned, choking the air. First Aid hadn't let up on Jazz's spark. He was grimacing, trembling, his hand nearly shaking as he traced the sparkling's spark with his shock stick.  
"Yes!" Ratchet finally bellowed. "Keep going! It's moving!"  
Wheeljack couldn't look. He watched Ratchet instead, watched the medic frantically grab tools and rip the monitor away from Jazz's tank. He readied the laser torch, gripped his micro scalpel. First Aid grimaced, grunting, his denta baring.  
"Wheeljack!" Ratchet shouted. "Get ready. I'm going to cut out the sparkling as soon as his spark is in his body. I need you to work on stabilizing his systems while 'Aid and I try to save Jazz."  
Wheeljack grunted, as close as he could to acknowledgement. He wasn't prepared for this. He didn't know how to save a premature sparkling's life. Pit, he didn't even know what the sparling's condition would be. They couldn't get good readings, not without the conductive energy of the tank's energon and the sparkling's wild, primitive thrashing. He had no idea what he was about to see, about to try and save. Ratchet had his hands full just trying to save Jazz's life, never mind the sparkling. It was almost unbelievable that they were trying to save both.  
What else could they do, though? Wheeljack swallowed, trying to arrange his microtools on the berth next to Ratchet. He'd grabbed every tool, every single one he had. He didn't know what he'd need, and he wouldn't have any time. No time at all.  
The sound of a laser torch searing against metal whined through the air, followed by the singe and taint of burning energon. The shock stick stopped at the same time, and the roaring crackle of the shocks traded places with the high-pitched whine of the laser torch, slicing into Jazz's tank.  
"There, there, 'Aid," Ratchet grunted. "Use the clamps and just wrench this flap off. We can't save it. We just need to get inside, quickly."  
Wheeljack heard First Aid's feet slip against the decking, sliding on spilled energon. Ratchet growled and First Aid grunted an apology. The laser torch never let up.  
"Wheeljack…" Ratchet hesitated, thumbing off the laser torch. Clamps grasped Jazz's tank, torqueing the cut plating aside. Wheeljack heard Ratchet's hand reaching into Jazz, so very deep within his body, deeper than anyone or anything had ever been. He heard Ratchet's fingers pulling at the slick webbing and connectors holding Jazz's sparkling in place. He heard Ratchet's heavy breathing, his quick, frantic pants intermingled with the slick slurping sound of his fingers desperately trying to extract a dying sparkling from the body of their dying friend.  
Finally, Ratchet turned, carrying Jazz's sparkling to Wheeljack. He held him out, his fingers coated, soaked in energon.  
Wheeljack stared, frozen, as Ratchet passed the sparkling to his waiting arms.  
He knew he'd be working with microtools. He knew he was going to be operating on a premature sparkling. He knew the sparkling was going to be small.  
He didn't expect the sparkling to fit in just one of his palms.

***

Sunstreaker's optics followed every footfall of Prowl's, watching his friend slowly pace up and down the corridor outside the medbay. He expected a ravine to form beneath Prowl's feet, a crevice to open beneath the unending, inexorable pacing. Prowl wouldn't – couldn't – stop, and Sunstreaker knew exactly how he felt.  
Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had been in the medbay, working through physical therapy with Ratchet, when the emergency call had come in. Sideswipe left with Prowler as Sunstreaker followed Ratchet and the med team to the Command Deck. They were racing back to the medbay within seconds of getting there, scooping Jazz up and tearing away, but Sunstreaker lingered, grabbing Prowl and holding tight. Prowl wasn't himself, wasn't even there, wasn't on the Command Deck or in reality as Sunstreaker grappled and held him close. Prowl wailed, bellowing, as Sunstreaker held him up. How many times had Prowl held him up? He could do no less.  
He had helped Prowl to the medbay after that, after Prowl had gone limp and nearly collapsed in Sunstreaker's arms. He was trembling, violently shaking, and Sunstreaker had held onto him with both hands as they stumbled as fast as they could to the medbay. Sunstreaker wasn't surprised to see the medbay on lockdown, but Prowl stared at the shut doors and the sealed lock as if they were a personal betrayal. His hands rested against the door as his helm leaned forward, his chevron ghosting the cold metal plating. One long exhale, and then Prowl had started pacing.  
::Nothing?:: Sideswipe checked in on Sunstreaker, keeping in touch through their bond.  
::Nothing.:: Sunstreaker's lips thinned as he watched Prowl circle, turn, and head back toward him.  
::It's been hours…:: Sideswipe's worried voice faded from Sunstreaker's mind.  
::You took hours, too.:: Sunstreaker felt awkward, being in the optimistic role, but he couldn't give up. Not yet. Not when he knew what disaster would mean for Prowl. Prowl was on the edge, the very, very edge, and this was the final blow. When those medbay doors opened, Prowl would either survive… or he would disappear. Sunstreaker just knew it. And he couldn't allow himself to think that, not yet. Not when he knew, he knew, just what kind of agony that was – contemplating losing your entire world. ::Long is better than short.::  
::Sunny…:: Sideswipe was nervous, anxious. ::Should I come?::  
::Only if you are able to find someone to watch Prowler.:: Sunstreaker watched Prowl pivot and turn, then start another lap of pacing. ::I don't know what that would do to him right now.::  
Whatever Sideswipe was going to say in response was choked off as the medbay lock disengaged. Sunstreaker scrambled to his feet, his hands falling to his sides and clenching in fists. Prowl whirled around, optics wide, bleached white with static and too much fear. He stood before the medbay doors, trembling and vibrating.  
Finally, the doors slid open, and Wheeljack stepped out silently. He let the doors slide shut behind him, watching over his shoulder for the seal to close and the doors to hiss shut. His optics flickered to Prowl, then away, darting over to Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker's vents shuddered. He knew that look in Wheeljack's optics, that sheen and depth.  
Guilt.  
Prowl was impatient. "Wheeljack?" he growled.  
Wheeljack started. Prowl's voice never sounded like that, raw and rough and uncontrolled. His optics fixed to Prowl's, holding onto his fear-stained gaze. "Prowl," Wheeljack started. His vocalizer shorted, turning his words to static whispers. "Prowl, there's a lot we need to talk about."  
Prowl's hands clenched to fists, fingers digging into his palms deep enough to cause dents. "Just tell me – how is he?"  
Wheeljack hesitated. His optics slid away. "That's complicated-"  
Exploding, Prowl lunged. He grasped Wheeljack's arms, shoving him backward and into the closed medbay doors, hard. "No it's not!" Prowl bellowed. "Is he alive?" He shuddered, gasping. "Is he-" Prowl couldn't say it. He couldn't ask if Jazz was dead.  
"Right now, they're both alive," Wheeljack said quickly.  
Prowl froze, every movement in his body stilling. "Both?" he whispered.  
"Ratchet, he managed…" Wheeljack swallowed, his audial fins fading. "He managed to extract your guys' sparkling. We've got him…" Wheeljack's voice faded away. "We've made him comfortable." Wheeljack finally whispered.  
Prowl shook his helm, his hands falling from where he had pinned Wheeljack. He couldn't stop shaking, and he backed away, taking tiny, unsteady steps back, until he bumped into Sunstreaker. The yellow twin grasped his elbows, steadying him, holding him up. "And Jazz?" Prowl finally mouthed.  
Wheeljack sighed, long and low. His blast whistled, sad and lingering. "There has been major damage to his internals," Wheeljack started. "His gestational tank burst. It was irreparable. We had to remove it."  
Sunstreaker jerked, squeezing down on Prowl's arms. Prowl's shudders increased, growing violent in his arms.  
"Without the tank, Jazz's support system is extremely fragile. His central struts can't support his frame right now, not without his internals. We're going to have to figure out some kind of internal support, but that's after everything else is healed." Wheeljack paused. "Which will take a long time. His engine flooded. His struts cracked. His lines blew. His-" Wheeljack stopped, cutting himself off. Prowl was already shaking, had already put his helm in his hands.  
"I need-" Prowl started. "I need to see them."  
"Prowl…" Wheeljack reached out, his hand resting on Prowl's wrist. "It's going be hard. It's going to be very hard." Wheeljack's optics darkened, guilt and haunted fear pouring out.  
Prowl shook his helm. "I need to see them," he whispered.  
Wheeljack met Sunstreaker's optics over Prowl's shoulder, silently asking a question. Sunstreaker nodded immediately. There was no way, no way in the Pit, that Prowl would stand another moment separated from Jazz… and his sparkling. "I'm here, Prowl," Sunstreaker grunted. He squeezed once, then gently pushed Prowl forward.  
Shaking footfalls faltered, then steadied. "Take me in," Prowl ordered, his voice a whisper.  
Silently, Wheeljack nodded. He reached behind him, pressing the medbay door panel. Prowl's optics fixed to the separating frame, already seeing past the door.  
Sunstreaker waited, watching as Prowl moved into the medbay. Wheeljack followed, silent, and the door slid closed behind them, leaving Sunstreaker in the corridor. Sunstreaker backed up, leaning against the bulkhead as he offlined his optics.  
He onlined his optics in a flash, white bright suddenly, as he heard the pitched clatter of a mech collapsing and Prowl's anguished cry tear through the corridor.

***

Prowl stumbled down the corridor, one hand on the bulkhead propping him up. He couldn't take the medbay any longer. Not after hours and hours staring at Jazz's too-still body, half empty and barely covered with a thin static bandage. Not after staring at his sparkling, too-tiny, too-still, and barely online.  
Ratchet and Wheeljack were ensconced in Ratchet's office, furiously pouring through data pads and schematics. They had locked themselves in, keeping their frantic nerves out of the silent, crypt-like medbay, and leaving Prowl to stew in deathly anxiety in between his family.  
He couldn't take it any longer. He tore out, near panicking, near choking on his vents, and stumbled down the silent, empty corridors.  
No one was around. He half expected to see Sunstreaker, but the yellow twin was gone. The ship was silent, seemingly empty. Haunted, almost. Empty, and ringing with silence. The silence bore down on Prowl, shoving at him, surrounding him on all sides, pressing into him. He gasped, then stumbled faster, finally running. There was too much silence in the medbay, too much death and pain and lost dreams and shattered memories.  
Gasping, Prowl slapped at the door panel along the bulkhead, then ducked inside as soon as the door slid open. He stumbled and fell, falling to the decking on his hands and knees. Shuddering, Prowl crawled, unable to stand, unable to right himself, into the darkened corner far from the door, tucked under a desk terminal. He collapsed, his forehelm pressed to the deck as he silently keened into the black, silent War Room. He'd run to the familiar, to the strategy room where he and Prime and the Command Team – Jazz! – had planned so many battles and strategies in the war against the Decepticons. This had been, ironically, the last place he'd felt any control over his life – planning battle strategies against an unpredictable enemy, in the midst of an endless war, surrounded by allies who were duplicitous at best. When had he lost everything? When had everything turned to pure and utter slag? Where had he gone wrong?  
Prowl collapsed sideways, his doorwings clanging against the bulkhead. He didn't even feel them. He shuddered, heaving vents of shaking air into his clenching engine. The image of Jazz, broken, still, and silent, was burned into his optics. He couldn't shake it, couldn't shake the chill of his body, or the beep of the terminal over Jazz. And his sparkling… Prowl offlined his optics, squeezing them shut, and curled around himself.  
Footfalls echoed in the corridor, striding close. Prowl squeezed his optics tighter, shaking his helm. He inhaled, gasping, and then froze as the War Room doors slid open.  
Heavy steps brought several mechs into the room. Prowl recognized Prime's heavy footfalls instantly, and then picked out Ironhide's shuffle and Trailbreaker's hesitant steps. Trailbreaker always seemed to think he was in the wrong place, always acted as if he was about to be asked to leave. Prowl's gears clenched, unwanted thoughts crashing into each other. Jazz had tried to bolster Trailbreaker's confidence so many times. Prowl had promoted Trailbreaker on Jazz's recommendation. He gritted his denta, grimacing, trying to force his processor to freeze.  
"Alright, bring up the transmission." Prime's voice was heavy, laced with fatigue and anguish. His feet stopped before a bank of monitors on the far side of the War Room. Ironhide fell in beside Prime, Trailbreaker following a moment later.  
They hadn't seen him.  
"They ain't going to be happy we blew them off… again," Ironhide growled. He punched at the terminal controls, pressing too hard against the glass casing. The panel whined beneath his fingers.  
"I have never made it a secret that my priority is my crew." Prime's crossed his arms, his gears whirling as he moved. "I don't really care what they think about that."  
"Transmission ready." Trailbreaker's voice was soft, and Prowl could picture his faceplates, nervous and looking down.  
A heavy sigh. "Let's get this over with," Prime growled. "We need to get back to the crew."  
Static filled the room, the light nearly penetrating the dark alcove Prowl had crawled into. He shrunk back, skirting away from the light. The channel cleared, the white static replaced by the darker colors of the Pentagon Situation Room, back in Washington D.C..  
"Gentleman," Prime began. "Good evening-"  
"What is the meaning of this, Prime?" One of the human's called out. Prowl could feel the rage in his tone, though he couldn't see a thing. "You said you were coming to New York today, and you blew us off. If you want to rebuild this alliance, that's not the way to go about it!"  
Prime's engine ticked over, faster and harder in the silence that stretched on after the human's tirade. "As I messaged you earlier in the day, there has been a tragedy aboard the Ark. I refuse to leave my ship while my crew is in trouble."  
"And just what kind of emergency crept up this time?"  
Another beat of silence, and Prow could hear Prime's gears clench. "One of our mech's suffered a serious injury this morning. He is in critical condition. We…" Prime hesitated, for a moment. "We don't know if he will make it."  
"You aren't doing any combat maneuvers, and you're certainly not fighting any Decepticons right now, so what kind of injury was this?" The human pressed on. Prowl shook his helm, wanting to disappear, wanting to be anywhere but where he was. "Is your safety so lax on board that crashed ship of yours that life-threatening injuries can just happen, in the morning on any given day?"  
Prowl pressed his lips shut, trembling. He waited, breathless, for Prime.  
The pause, this time, was far longer. When Prime spoke, he wasn't calm, or polite, or considerate, any longer. "My crewmen, my third in command, one of my closest friends, suffered a tragic interruption in his sparkling gestation this morning," Prime began. Hushed gasps and shocked curses floated across the comm link. "He is barely alive. We don't know how bad his damage is. And the sparkling he was expecting, with another of my officers and one of my closest friends, is not expected to survive." Prime swallowed, and his vocalizer shorted. "It has been a difficult day here, gentlemen," he growled.  
Prowl came undone, silently and in the dark, gasping for silent breaths as he forcibly offlined his vocalizer. His optics stayed dark, and he could only listen as the transmission continued. He was supposed to be in New York with Prime and Ironhide that very moment, working on rebuilding their alliance. Instead, Prime had just dropped their last secret out into the open, confirming the humans' worst fears. The Autobots were expanding – or had tried to, at any rate. Prowl hiccupped, shuddering again.  
"You understand that the continued expansion of your military presence here on this planet has been a very grave concern for the citizens of Earth for some time now?" A new voice spoke, rising above the heated whispers and curses.  
"These are sparklings!" Ironhide grunted. "Infants! Not soldiers!"  
"But they will grow up to be Autobots, to be soldiers, and to fight in this never-ending war of yours, is that right?"  
Silence.  
"As your population continues to expand, the resources that you draw on, here on our planet, will continue to increase. Our planet will have to host two species, one native and one not. How long until our planet cannot sustain both, hmm?"  
"This is ridiculous," Ironhide grumbled. "You're talkin' as if we're going to be taking over! This is just two little sparklings!"  
"Two can quickly become two hundred, or two thousand." A new voice, sharp and biting.  
"The point is," the second voice cut in, taking back the conversation. "That we have been trying to map out the boundaries of a new alliance between our two peoples since the unfortunate incident two months ago." Prime's fingers crushed his arms, nearly denting his plating. "And with the Decepticons vanishing into space, the true mandate for your presence, and our original alliance, has disappeared. Any new alliance would have to take into account your continued presence on this planet as, effectively, refugees. In accordance, we would need to ensure that there were benefits to the costs of hosting a refugee species, one with such an incredible presence and potential for destruction. We would need to take serious precautions to ensure that offering you assistance would not jeopardize our future or stability."  
"Refugees!" Ironhide barked. "After all we've-"  
Prime cut Ironhide off. "I will not subject my people to slavery, Mr. President." His words rang with finality.  
Silence, this time from the other end. "No one is saying that you would be slaves, Prime." The President's tone was scathing. "However, it is perfectly reasonable for us to require that you provide a service for your continued presence, and that your population be contained and controlled until you're relocated to a permanent resettlement location. Off of the planet."  
Silence, this time from both sides. Trailbreaker fidgeted with his data pad, the glass casing whining as he flexed and bent the edges. Ironhide's vents fumed, hissing and broiling. Finally, Prime spoke. "You know, the galaxy is a gigantic place. Full to the brim of star systems and species. I was shocked when we first landed here. A planet untouched by the galactic craziness. Of course, Megatron would want to exploit that. And, when he was stuck here, I didn't worry about the secret of your existence getting out." Prime moved, unfolding from his clenched arm hold. "But now, with the Decepticons gone, you had better know that the rest of the galaxy is going to come around, eager to meet the population of Earth." He pointed at the screen. "You don't know what's out there. What was done to our planet, before we were able to fight back!" His fist slammed against the terminal, shorting out the display. "I would have been happy to help Earth ready itself, prepare for your entry into the galactic neighborhood. But I will not stand by while my people are placed on slave confinements the likes of which we haven't endured since the Occupation of Cybertron!" Prime heaved, his vents shallow. "I will not remain in a place where all of our efforts, all of our friendship, amounted to no more than a theft in the night, a betrayal of trust, and now, a blatant call to slavery." Prime's optics burned as he held gaze's with the President. "We're leaving."  
Prime cut the transmission.  
Silence. Not even Trailbreaker fidgeted.  
"Prime…" Ironhide finally spoke up. "That's not what you wanted to do."  
"No," Prime sighed. "But it is what I had to do. Tell Perceptor and Skyfire that we need to know the closest habitable system, and the quickest route to it. Then tell Wheeljack to get Hoist and Grapple on the shuttle repairs, along with any mech that can assist. Have Jaz- Mirage put together a couple of teams to go and clean out every base and hideout we've ever used, and that we've ever found of the Decepticons."  
"According to Skyfire and Perceptor's last report, we don't have enough energon to make the journey to the nearest star system." Trailbreaker's voice was small, quiet.  
Prime sighed, long and heavy. "I know. We need to scrounge what we can from the Decepticon storage facilities that we know of. Get to the Nemesis, try and see what we can take. And we'll have to trade along the way. Have Prow- Have 'Bee start working on contacts and possibilities for trade. We'll even go with the pirates, if we have to."  
Twin intakes, sharp and pointed, met Prime's words. "I don't like this either," Prime growled. "But the alternative is worse. I won't have the Autobots succumb to slavery, not after everything they've been through."  
"How soon are we leaving?" Trailbreaker's voice only wavered slightly.  
A pause, and a heavy sigh. "As soon as we can," Prime finally said.  
"When will we tell the crew?" Ironhide shuffled, crossing his arms.  
"Right now," Prime grunted. "We can't afford the luxury of waiting. We lift off in days. As soon as possible."  
Slowly, the three officers trudged out of the War Room, leaving Prowl huddled and alone and curled in the dark. Prowl collapsed, unfurling as the door slid shut, and he shook as he tried to crawl forward. He had to get to his feet, had to follow Prime, had to do something. He shook, falling as he tried to push himself up, and fell flat on the decking. Gasping, Prowl finally gave in, gave up, and screamed, pouring out his rage and his fear and his anguish in a guttural, denta-baring shriek of rage. His vocalizer shorted, turning to static, and his hands clenched into fists, banging on the decking.  
He'd lost it all. Everything, every single thing he'd worked for, in his entire life, lay shattered and ruined. The end of their alliance, because of him, their loss of the Decepticons, again, because of him, and all leading to this desperate gamble for survival, more a risk than anything else. His incredible failure with Jazz. The soon-to-be-death of his sparkling.  
He couldn't take it, not anymore. How could one mech fail so much in one lifetime? To have caused so much pain and anguish to so many? Prowl shuddered and heaved, his tanks trying to purge energon that wasn't there.  
Finally, Prowl stilled, his face pressed to the decking. Vents puffed from his lips, warm air blowing across the cool deck, and small drops of condensation formed in front of him. His optics were dim, barely online, his fingers almost scratching the deck near his helm. Prime would be telling the Autobots now, telling them about their soon-to-be exile, and why. Prowl could feel the weight of the crews' judgment on his shoulders already, could feel their cold optics turning against him. He deserved it. He deserved every bit of their recrimination.  
What could he do? Nothing right. He'd messed so much up, so many times. Prime wouldn't need him anymore. Wouldn't want him, rather. Not such an incredible screw-up. Jazz… His sparkling… He'd screwed everything up there as well. But his sparkling was innocent, and so alone, and so close to the edge. At the very least, he should be there, with his sparkling, at the end.  
Prowl pushed himself up on shaking arms. There was one place for him, only one place, where he needed to be.  
The rest of the world, and everything else, could go to the Pit.

***

Prowl's doorwings stood on edge in their hinges as the medbay doors slid open. He peered inside the deathly silent medbay, frowning. He could feel something was wrong, desperately wrong. His optics landed on the empty berth where Jazz was supposed to be.  
Running, Prowl raced to the berth. The medbay alarm had been silenced, cutting off notification to Ratchet that he had an MIA patient. Prowl whirled around, looking to Ratchet's office. Empty. Ratchet and Wheeljack were nowhere to be seen. Panicking, Prowl spun back around, but this time, his optics caught on a dark black foot, lying on the floor.  
"Jazz!" Prowl leapt over the medberth, dropping down beside Jazz. Jazz lay on the decking, barely moving, just a few meters away from the medberth. He was reaching, trying to move, trying to make his way to the next medberth… and to their sparkling. "Jazz, Primus…" Prowl's hands floated over his body, checking for energon or broken supports.  
"… Prowl?" Jazz's voice was rough, scratchy from intubation and gears forced aside. His optics blearily tried to online, flickering and underpowered.  
"I'm here, I'm here," Prowl whispered. He reached for Jazz's shoulder and hip, wrapping Jazz's helm around one elbow before gripping his shoulder. "I'm going to roll you over, Jazz."  
"No-" Jazz inhaled, hissing in agony, as Prowl quickly rolled Jazz, trying to keep his helm, shoulders, and hip in line. Jazz trembled in his arms, shaking through gritted denta. "Hurts," Jazz bit out.  
"I know," Prowl grunted. "Let me get you back into the berth." He tried to scoop Jazz up, tried to grasp him in his arms.  
Jazz pushed at Prowl's chest. "No, I need to see him." He pushed again, trying to push Prowl away. He was trying to crawl, or pull himself bodily, if he had to, to his sparkling. "I need to see him!"  
"Jazz…" Prowl hiccupped, leaning over as he pressed his forehelm against Jazz's arm. "It's not good."  
"What happened?" Jazz demanded. He coughed, trying to speak louder than a choked whisper. "What happened to him?"  
"He's too early, Jazz," Prowl whispered, shaking his helm. His chevron rubbed against Jazz's plating, and Prowl hated the feel. "He's too early. He-" Prowl's vocalizer choked, static spitting through his words. "He won't make it."  
Stillness beneath Prowl, as Jazz stopped fighting. Perfect, utter stillness, for a long, long moment. And then, a keening wail, pushed past broken gears, pushed past Jazz's scratchy throat. Jazz shivered, and his arms wrapped around Prowl's helm, grasping at Prowl, his fingers digging into his helm, his cheek, his chin. Prowl grasped at Jazz, gripping onto his shoulder, and he bawled against Jazz's plating as Jazz screamed into the medbay.

***

Smokescreen was shaking, pulling on his fingers as his plating trembled. He wandered the corridor, optics blank, and shook his hands over and over. What on Primus was going on? Leaving Earth? Evacuation? Traveling in Wheeljack's shuttles, the death traps they had just escaped from?  
Smokescreen shuddered. He shook his hands again, trying to stop their trembling. He couldn't seem to stop shaking, and there wasn't anything he could do to stop it.  
Prime had left the Rec room after delivering the news, leaving in swell of silence and shock. Mechs reacted in waves, partners turning to each other, others ranting and raving. Cliffjumper destroyed the couch before the rest of the mini bots pulled him off. Several of the Aerialbots were crying. Shock lined every mechs' gaze. Smokescreen wandered out of the Rec room in a daze, shaken and frazzled and unable to process anything anymore.  
Bluestreak. He wanted Bluestreak. Unfortunately, he hadn't seen his friend since their confrontation on the Command Deck, when Bluestreak had told him about his feelings and then asked for him to leave him alone. It was like Bluestreak didn't exist in his life anymore, with how effectively Bluestreak avoided him. But now, Smokescreen wanted Bluestreak back. No, he needed Bluestreak.  
Smokescreen stopped outside Bluestreak's door. His wanderings had taken him right to Bluestreak's quarters. Emotions tumbled within him, surging and fading in unsteady measures. Panic, guilt, fear, and loss rolled around his spark. More than anything else, though, loneliness filled him. He missed Bluestreak.  
From inside Bluestreak's quarters, a soft, droning voice carried across the bulkheads. Smokescreen frowned, not recognizing the voice. Then he sighed, shaking his helm. Of course. Bluestreak had his nature programs on again. Which meant he was inside. And he was alone.  
Trepidation stole over Smokescreen once more. He hesitated, then rushed forward, slapping his hand against Bluestreak's door, knocking with an open palm over and over.  
"What the Pit-" Bluestreak was at the door in a flash, moving too quickly for a mech who was relaxing. Bluestreak's hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, testament to his own racing thoughts and anxieties. Bluestreak's optics narrowed as he took in Smokescreen, standing at his doorway. "What?"  
"Primus, Blue…" Smokescreen's hands started to tremble again, and he grasped at nothing, trying to interlock his fingers. "What the frag is going on?"  
Swallowing, Bluestreak looked away. His jaw clenched, gears grinding. "I don't know, Smokey," Bluestreak grunted. "Everything is fragged up right now. The humans don't want us to be here. And Prime… he's not going to make us be slaves. Not again."  
"But leaving?" Smokescreen's vocalizer pitched high. "For who knows where? And on the shuttles? They're not long range transports."  
Bluestreak shrugged. His fingers played with the door seam. "What do you want me to say, Smokey?"  
Smokescreen's world shifted, and everything seemed to collapse in on itself, suddenly. He shook harder, his hands vibrating in his grasp, and squeezed his optics shut. "I want-" Smokescreen began. He gasped, then shook his helm. "I want everything to be okay!" Smokescreen finally shouted. "I want Jazz and Prowl to be okay! I want Sides and Sunny to be happy! I want the humans to be okay with us! I want to stay here, in our home! I want-" Smokescreen inhaled, shuddering, "I want to be close to you again! I hate this! I hate losing you, too. We've lost everything! The war, Jazz, Prowl, Earth, and now you too? I can't take it! I just can't!" Smokescreen's optics blazed as he stared at Bluestreak, begging him to understand.  
"That's a lot of want, Smokey," Bluestreak finally whispered. "We really don't get what we want, though. Not in this life." Bluestreak still wouldn't look at Smokescreen. He picked at the door seam, worrying over the chipped paint.  
"Can't we at least be okay?" Smokescreen wasn't above begging. "I miss you."  
Finally, Bluestreak turned, and his optics bore straight through Smokescreen. Anguish, plain and pure, was writ large in his gaze. "I miss you so much it hurts, Smokescreen," Bluestreak whispered. "I never wanted you to know. I can't take your pity, or your disgust, or-"  
"I don't feel any of that!" Smokescreen interrupted. "I just miss you!"  
"Not the way that I miss you," Bluestreak whispered again. "If I could, Smokey, I would fix the universe for you. I'd fight every Decepticon for you, single handedly. I'd fix this alliance, and I'd build you a palace here, wherever you wanted, on Earth. I'd do all of that for you."  
Smokescreen's optics fractured, static clouding his vision and his vocalizer all at once. "What if I do miss you like that?" Smokescreen tried to whisper. "What if I'm willing to try?"  
Bluestreak froze, his optics suddenly nervous, guarded. "Try what?"  
"You're my best friend, Blue, and I can't take this separation. I can't stand this, and I miss you so much. I need you in my life. You've always been a part of my life, and I don't even know what I'm doing anymore, now that you're not there. You got me through so much, and even these last few months, I couldn't have gone on without you. I didn't know, Blue, I didn't know how you felt, and I am so sorry for hurting you all this time." Smokescreen hiccupped as Bluestreak's optics narrowed. "But you are my best friend, the mech I have always been closest to, and if having you in my life means that I need to take a chance on the one mech who has loved me more than anyone ever has, then I want to be with you, Blue." Smokescreen swallowed, his fingers shaking in his hands once more. "I do love you, you know…"  
Bluestreak's optics flared, blinding suddenly, and his mouth dropped open. Slowly, Bluestreak's helm began to shake, back and forth, side to side. "No, no-no-no, you don't know what you're saying. You're stressed, you're in shock, you're not really thinking about doing this-"  
"I am! And I have been!" Smokescreen reached out, cupping Bluestreak's cheek with his shaking palm. "Blue…"  
Bluestreak's vents shuddered at Smokescreen's touch, and his optics darkened, sliding shut. "Smokescreen," he whispered. "You can destroy me. Please. Don't hurt me."  
"I can't say I'm not nervous," Smokescreen whispered. "But the last thing I want to do is hurt you. I want to be at your side, Bluestreak. And I want to try… us."  
Bluestreak's optics slid open as he stared at Smokescreen. "I'll build you a palace wherever we land," he whispered. "And I'll fight off every Decepticon, every single one."  
"I just want to feel your arms around me," Smokescreen whispered back.  
Instantly, Bluestreak had wrapped Smokescreen up, holding him close, holding him tight. Smokescreen buried his helm in Bluestreak's neck, sobbing as he collapsed into Bluestreak's arms. Bluestreak held him tight, holding up his weight, and pressed a small kiss to his temple.  
Smokescreen leaned back, holding Bluestreak's gaze. "Kiss me again," Smokescreen said softly. "You know how much I idolize a perfect first kiss."  
Smiling, Bluestreak cupped Smokescreen's cheek, stroking his thumb over Smokescreen's cheek arch. His optics traced Smokescreen's helm, the lines of his face, memorizing – again – the curve and shape of his face. "So beautiful," Bluestreak murmured. "You are perfect in my spark." Keeping his optics locked with Smokescreen's, Bluestreak leaned in, pressing their lips together. Smokescreen shuddered, grasping onto Bluestreak's shoulders, but it was Bluestreak who moaned first and broke away, panting. "I want to make love to you," Bluestreak whispered against Smokescreen's helm, kissing his plating with every word.  
Smokescreen stiffened, finally finding his feet. "Blue, I'm nervous." He chewed his lip. "I don't have any experience with dual valve relationships-"  
Bluestreak chuckled, pulling back. "Smokey, I know exactly how you like your partners, and exactly what your preferences are." Smokescreen liked to be the valve mech, to be the receiver, and to be wrapped up in another mechs' arms and love. "I've wanted to prove to you since the moment I met you that I could be that mech." Bluestreak could feel his spike charging up. He hadn't had a lot partners, not since Smokescreen had become the center of his world and had remade his universe.  
Smokescreen stared into Bluestreak's optics. He couldn't believe how he'd missed the purity and poignancy of Bluestreak's love for him. The intensity was threatening to bowl him over, take him down, and drown him in its depths. "I trust you," Smokescreen finally said. "And I want to feel your love."

***

Jazz lay propped on his side, buffeted by a small mountain of medbay blankets and pillows, all arranged by Prowl. He was wedged in and as comfortable as he could be – and as supported as he could be – as he lay on his side, staring at his sparkling. Prowl had reattached the lines he'd ripped out on his short-lived attempt to crawl across the medbay floor. Pain meds sluiced through his lines, bathing his systems in a cool, numbing wave.  
The pain meds couldn't touch his spark, though. Jazz swallowed, pressing his hand against his chestplates, hastily resewn together above his spark chamber. There was physical pain there, but worse than that, deeper than that, was the black hole of abject failure Jazz could feel swallowing him whole.  
Next to Jazz, Prowl sat slumped in a bedside chair, staring at their sparkling as well. His doorwings were limp and flat, low on his back. His optics were dim, barely powered, and filled with static. Jazz had never seen him so dejected, not ever. Not even when he'd broken his spark, over and over again.  
Jazz's optics dragged back to their sparkling. He could barely stand to look, but he forced himself to. This was their sparkling, the sparkling he had failed to carry, had failed to nurture. How long had he wailed against the universe, not wanting this sparkling? And now, faced with their sparkling's imminent demise, Jazz wished he could take every wish, every choked off and bitten curse, every prayer to be free of their sparkling, back. He never, ever wanted to watch his sparkling die, right before his optics.  
Their sparkling lay under a dome, formerly the domed lid of a petri dish for Wheeljack. Oxygen lines pumped into the dome, over-pressurizing the tiny bubble. Within, their tiny sparkling struggled for every ragged inhale, every tiny engine pump. His mouth worked, trying to pull in air. Fitful gasps and shudders wracked his frame. One tiny hand curled into a fist, scrapping along the mounds of blankets Wheeljack had laid out. A heat lamp hung above, baking the underpowered sparkling. His engine wasn't fully formed, only one piston actually working. He could barely drag enough air into his vents to fire his engine, much less keep his systems warm and powered. A mini pump, actually a metronome scavenged from somewhere, pumped a fraction of energon into and out of their sparkling's body, completing a full circuit within his frame every 45 seconds. Their sparkling pulled a frown, gasping, seeming in pain, and Jazz almost looked away. He forced himself to watch. His sparkling couldn't even see him – his optics were taped shut. They weren't fully formed yet, and bare neural lines were exposed beneath the tiny shuttered lids.  
Jazz's optics finally settled on the static bandage covering their sparkling's belly. Beneath the bandage, a gaping hole lay exposed. His engine wasn't finished yet, and holes pocked their sparkling's internals. With each fraction of energon pushed through his tiny body, part leaked out of his not-yet-functional engine. He was slowly drowning, and Wheeljack had danced along the edge of calculations for power and energon, designed to keep the sparkling powered and yet not overwhelming his systems. A tiny drain tube poked out from the side of the static bandage, and energon oozed out, pooling off the edge of the blankets.  
"He should be getting that energon from me," Jazz whispered. _He should be inside me still!_ Jazz's spark burned, and he gasped, finally tearing his optics away from his sparkling.  
"Ratchet said there were microscopic perforations in your tank," Prowl whispered. "From battle."  
Swallowing, Jazz offlined his optics. All of his excursions off the Ark during his carrying played back in his mind, his desperate battle at NASA, his chase through the American countryside, his hack at DARPA. The attack in Canada. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.  
Prowl shook his helm. "Ratchet said they were old. Probably from before Earth." He shook his helm. "It wasn't… recent."  
Trembling, Jazz shook his helm. "I must have done something. I wanted him gone, Prowl." Jazz gasped, suddenly overwhelmed, suddenly surging with guilt and despair and anguish. "I never wanted him, and now he's –"  
Prowl was silent, staring at their sparkling.  
"Everything is over," Prowl whispered. Swallowing, Prowl tried to straighten, tried to move away from Jazz. "Everything. The humans know about us, Jazz," Prowl choked out. "They know about our sparkling. And they were –" Prowl stopped. He shook his helm. "If we want to stay on Earth, we have to earn our keep, and keep our population under control."  
Jazz reared back as much as he could, his optics widening. "What are you saying?"  
Prowl grimaced and shook his helm. "Prime wouldn't put up with that. He ordered our evacuation. We're leaving Earth, Jazz. Treaty over."  
Jazz stared into Prowl's optics, searching for something, anything to say it wasn't true. His breaths came fast and shallow.  
"It didn't have to be like this," Prowl whispered. He shook his helm. He wouldn't look at Jazz, not once.  
Jazz couldn't speak. He couldn't even think, couldn't process this version of Prowl in front of him. What had he done?

***

0900 the next morning found Sideswipe and Sunstreaker loading up into Skyfire, alongside Hound and the Protectobots. Prowler was safely with Smokescreen, and the twins privately thought that maybe Smokescreen needed the distraction. His optics had been rimmed with white static that morning, as if he'd been up all night sobbing.  
"Alright, everyone know your assignments?" Hound turned to the group of mechs. "We'll drop you off at each of your assigned bases. Get in, get the gear and equipment you can, destroy what you can't, and download whatever you can back to Teletraan-1."  
Silently, the mechs nodded. Hound didn't try to engage the mechs further. He disappeared into the cockpit to chat with Skyfire and comm back to the Ark.  
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker stared at each other. Primus, but so much had changed in one day. Prowl and Jazz's disaster had raced through the crew, shredding everyone. The news that they were sparked was the first major blow, followed instantly by the news that they were losing the sparkling, and that Jazz was seriously damaged. The Ark had been a crypt all day, mechs huddling together in silent groups. There had been too much bad news recently, and the crew's nerves were weathered and wearing thin. The clung to each other in silence, hoping against hope for good news.  
None came. Instead, Prime delivered the final blow that evening, and everyone had raced into action.  
By morning, smudged blueprints had been posted in the Rec room, outlining tiny partitions pretending to serve as crew quarters on both of Wheeljack's shuttles. Couples were automatically assigned together, and everyone else had to pick a roommate, or two. The partitions were barely large enough to house two cots, bunked on top of one another. The miniature quarters were going to be tiny, barely any room at all. And, stacked right on top of each other.  
Across the hold, the Protectobots were arguing amongst themselves over the din of their air travel. Sideswipe couldn't make out what they were saying, but he caught the repeated looks thrown their way. He frowned, trying to ignore the stares. He could already tell that Sunstreaker was irritated.  
"What about you guys?" Hot Spot was the first to speak. He called across the hold, gesturing to the twins. "What are you guys going to do?"  
Sunstreaker frowned as Sideswipe spoke. "What do you mean?"  
"With the evacuation? You guys have Prowler. That's got to be hard, thinking about the evacuation with your sparkling." The rest of the Protectobots had gone silent, watching and waiting for the twins to respond.  
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker glanced at each other again. What were they going to do? They had been given a partition for the three of them, no bigger or smaller than any other. They were bunked, one on top of the other, without a double berth, without a sparkling berth, and without any space for Prowler to move around in. No space for toys, or his bath tub. The rest of the cramped shuttle was taken up with partitions, and with over fifty mechs crammed into a shuttle built for 20, there wouldn't be much room for Prowler to play, either. "We don't know where we're going," Sideswipe finally said. "Hopefully it will be a short trip."  
First Aid shook his helm. "I've heard Wheeljack talking to Ratchet. The nearest system will take a long time to get to. We don't have enough power to get there right now. That's part of the reason why we're scavenging."  
Sideswipe swallowed as Sunstreaker shifted next him. Not enough energon, and being in those cramped shuttles for a long time?  
"What about you guys?" Sunstreaker grunted. He jutted his helm toward the Protectobots. "How are you guys splitting up?"  
More bickering, as the Protectobots turned back to their original squabbles. "We don't know," Hot Spot called out, over the voices of his brothers. "It's hard for us. I can't imagine what it's like for you guys."  
Sunstreaker frowned. Sideswipe's hand snaked across his lap and twined within his own. "This is the only home you guys have ever known. Are you okay with leaving?"  
Hot Spot smiled sadly, his lips thin. "No," he said, shaking his helm. "I think that's where all of this is coming from." He gestured to his brothers, still squabbling and arguing, though growing more heated by the second. "I wish we didn't have to go," Hot Spot said.  
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker stared at each other, searching the other's gaze. Could they do this? Could they really do this?  
Did they have a choice?  
"Sides, Sunny." Hound poked his helm out from the cockpit. "You guys are up."

***

"Most importantly, I don't want to give you any false hope." Ratchet looked from Prowl to Jazz, fixing them with his gaze. "I can't guarantee anything. We've never, ever done anything like this before. Even operating on Prowler was simpler than this." Ratchet sighed, shaking his helm.  
Wheeljack stood next to Jazz and Prowl's sparkling's berth, taking readouts and checking vital signs. Prowl stood next to Jazz, one hand next to Jazz's hand on the berth, as if he wanted to hold on to Jazz. Jazz lay back, propped up and immobile. Ratchet had increased the physical sedatives to the point where Jazz could barely move, much less consider another break for freedom.  
"But… You might be able to repair his engine?" Prowl's voice was soft.  
"Might," Ratchet pressed back firmly. "We're not talking about damage here. We're talking about an engine that hasn't fully formed, with ores that are still soft and under developed."  
Prowl flinched, his fingers stretching out. Jazz reached out with one finger, resting against Prowl's.  
"I can't do anything about everything else." Ratchet sighed, his shoulders slumping. The sparkling was just so tiny, so underdeveloped. He couldn't do anything for his optics, couldn't do anything for his soft protoform or his barely formed struts. The positive pressure oxygen helped, but without the sparkling's engine working at full power, he would never be able to breathe on his own. And, without that engine hole fixed, he'd drown in a matter of days.  
In a matter of days, the Autobots would be long gone from Earth, though.  
Ratchet heaved another sigh. Come the Pit or Prime, he was not moving his medbay until his patients walked out, or -. Ratchet abruptly stopped his train of thought. The Ark was being disassembled all around them, evacuation plans were in full swing, but Ratchet refused to entertain the thought of shutting down his medbay.  
"What are the risks?" Jazz asked.  
"Primus, everything," Ratchet sighed. "We'll just be guessing, really, with the sedatives. He's so incredibly tiny. We could offline him just sedating him." Ratchet cringed as Prowl and Jazz both shuddered, visibly recoiling from Ratchet's blunt words. "The surgery itself could be too much." Ratchet tried to soften his words. "If he survives, I have no idea what recovery might be like. Or how long he'll need intense care." Ratchet paused. "Or if he'll even grow up normally."  
Prowl and Jazz turned toward each other. Jazz gave up the pretense of not needing Prowl's hand and grasped down, squeezing tight. Prowl flinched, grimacing, but slowly snaked their fingers together. "A micron of hope, or no hope at all?" Jazz whispered, holding Prowl's gaze.  
"Always, always hope," Prowl whispered back. "Always."  
Jazz shuttered his optics. He spark still ached, tearing him in two. He could barely draw the motivation to keep inhaling vents. Hope seemed fragile and so far away, so distant as to be untenable, even. But, if Prowl could hope, then maybe he could support Prowl.  
"We'll start as soon as we can," Ratchet said. "We've been going over your sparkling's scans and readings. We've plotted and rendered everything that we can. It's best to do this as soon as possible."  
Prowl nodded, squeezing Jazz's hand hard. Jazz nodded as well, keeping his optics dark and shuttered.  
"I… would like to offer you guys the chance to hold him," Ratchet said slowly. "Just before the surgery. You guys haven't been able to hold him yet, and … this may be your last chance." Ratchet cursed himself as Prowl and Jazz both collapsed inward. Prowl stumbled, falling back into his seat.  
"Won't that hurt him?" Jazz asked. His voice was wavering. "Doesn't he need the oxygen?"  
"It will be okay for a few minutes." Ratchet tried to smile. It didn't work. "I'll go set up with Wheeljack, and when we're ready, we'll bring him over." Ratchet stood as Jazz and Prowl deflated, turning to stone and tears before Ratchet's optics. He turned away, trying to escape the depressive malaise. "Oh, And." He looked back, over his shoulder. "Have you guys decided on a name?"  
The look that passed between the two officers clearly showed that they had not.  
"Why don't you guys try and pick one for him?" Ratchet said softly.  
Prowl waited for Ratchet to walk away before he looked up at Jazz. Their fingers were still intertwined, still laced together. Discussing their sparkling's name had been the subject of their last set of messages, routed back and forth through Ratchet. Prowl had liked one of Jazz's suggestions, but he was fairly certain Jazz hadn't gotten that data pad yet. "Did you have a name you wanted to use?" Prowl said quietly.  
"Did you get my pad?" Jazz wouldn't meet Prowl's gaze.  
Prowl nodded. "I crossed out a few. Circled one. Added a few of my own."  
Jazz tried to smile, but it wavered. "Which did you cross out?"  
"Dubstep and Stalk."  
Finally, Jazz smiled. "I figured you would," he whispered. "Which one did you like?"  
"I liked Terra." Prowl looked down. "Seemed like a good name. 'Home.'"  
Jazz nodded. "Is it applicable? Being kicked off the planet and all?"  
"Home has always been where my spark is," Prowl grunted. He couldn't look at Jazz.  
Jazz tried to swallow, but the gears in his throat stuck, and he couldn't swallow past the lump that seemed to have permanently lodged itself within him. "What about 'Hope?'"  
Prowl finally looked up, meeting Jazz's optics. His own were filled with static, lined with white, and wavered from dim to overbright. Prowl didn't speak for a long moment. "Hope," he whispered. "That's a good omen."  
Jazz nodded. He tightened his fingers' grip on Prowl's hand. "You said we would always choose hope, right?"  
Swallowing, Prowl looked away. "Until there's nothing left."  
Silence, then, stretching on. Prowl pulled his hand from Jazz's grip and settled stiff into the chair beside Jazz. He turned away, not looking at Jazz, and also not looking at Ratchet and Wheeljack bustling and busying themselves in and out of the back surgical suite. Prowl was staring at nothing, his optics disappearing into the middle distance.  
Jazz watched Prowl until he couldn't stand it. His spark, already shattered, already burned, already shredded, shrank again, crumpling inside. He could feel the pain, could feel the spark-deep pain that tore through him. He didn't understand Prowl, not now. Prowl hadn't left his side, not for a moment, since he had onlined on the medbay floor. He stayed rooted by his berth, entrenched at his side, either pacing or growing roots in the berthside chair. He was silent, unless Ratchet spoke to him. Prowl had a hard time looking at Jazz. He couldn't hold his gaze for long. And they rarely touched, if ever. Physical comfort just didn't happen. Not now, not after everything.  
Jazz knew why. He knew why Prowl couldn't stand him, couldn't stand the sight or the touch of him. He had killed their sparkling. He was responsible for all of this. He wouldn't blame Prowl if Prowl never wanted to see him again. Or if Prowl hated him.  
Jazz already hated himself.  
Leaning back, Jazz offlined his optics and let the sounds of the medbay fade away. Had they just named their sparkling? In a few choked off sentences and without looking at one another?  
Did it matter, in the end?  
Jazz supposed not. And, if he was allowed to hope, then he'd hope for a quick offlining for himself. He wished, hard, prayed even, for the darkness to swallow him whole and never let him go.  
"Guys?" Wheeljack padded to Jazz's berth, stopping beside Prowl. "We can begin now. Would you… would you like to hold your sparkling?"  
Instinctively, Jazz's optics shot to Prowl. Prowl met his gaze, his optics burning, melting from his face. Prowl was already nodding, though he could have been trembling. "Yes," Jazz breathed. Prowl couldn't say the words. He could barely keep himself from flying apart.  
Wheeljack nodded and moved back to their sparkling's berth. Suddenly fixated, Jazz watched as Wheeljack moved away the heat lamp and the oxygen hoses, then lifted off his petri dish cover. He pulled out the drainage tube, then unplugged the hand-made energon pump. Carefully, Wheeljack laid out one of the softer knit blankets, folded over four times in order to be small enough for their sparkling. Beside Jazz, Prowl inhaled, harsh and practically a sob, as Wheeljack gently lifted – with only his fingers – their sparkling's tiny body.  
A few wraps and tucks, and their sparkling was nestled into the folds of the blanket. He'd lose heat fast without the heat lamp and without the assistance of the pump. Wheeljack turned and headed back toward Jazz's berth.  
Their sparkling wasn't strong enough to cry yet. He wasn't strong enough to throw a fit, or pound his tiny fist in anger, but he was strong enough to twist his tiny faceplates and try, as hard as he could, to scream. Silence pushed from his underpowered vocalizer, until the faintest hint of static and a fragile cough finally pushed out. Jazz felt his spark break anew as Wheeljack stopped in front of Prowl, and their sparkling's face contorted into a rictus of anguish.  
Mesmerized, Prowl was on his feet instantly. He reached for their sparkling, his optics fixed to his tiny, fragile faceplates. Prowl's arms swallowed their sparkling. Even with the bundle of blankets, he still was smaller than Prowl's hands. "Hello," Prowl whispered, drawing him close. "I'm your parent." He pressed his face as close as he could without touching, just resting his cheek against the blanket next to his tiny helm. They couldn't touch, not really. Jazz watched Prowl's expression shatter and break, and his optics fall offline. Prowl pressed a kiss to the blanket, next to their sparkling's helm. "I love you," Prowl whispered.  
Their sparkling tried to move, tried to wiggle. His helm moved, seeking Prowl's, and he tried to nuzzle closer to the warm voice that came from half of his spark.  
Trembling, Prowl shuffled toward Jazz. He couldn't meet Jazz's gaze, but kept his optics fixed on their sparkling. Carefully, Prowl passed him to Jazz.  
Jazz felt as if he had been handed air. There was no weight to the blankets, no mass buried within. He couldn't believe how tiny he was. Jazz pulled him close, resting the blanket right on his chestplates. "Hi Hope," he whispered.  
Next to him, Prowl stiffened. Jazz glanced up, trying to meet Prow's gaze. Prowl was looking anywhere but at Jazz, and his optics had turned shockingly white.  
"Hope, you're so tiny," Jazz whispered. In his arms, Hope squirmed, seeking out the heat of Jazz's body. His mouth opened, a tiny gasp trying to pull in more air. "I know it hurts," Jazz whispered. "But Ratchet will make it all better soon." Jazz's voice cracked on the end, fracturing his final words into static.  
"Guys," Wheeljack started, softly. "We should get started."  
Suddenly, Jazz couldn't let Hope go. He couldn't stop staring, couldn't tear his optics from Hope's faceplates. Next to him, Prowl was suddenly pressed close, his face right next to Jazz's. Jazz shook his helm, his arms tightening. "I'm not ready," he whispered.  
Prowl's hand reached for Hope, and he stroked one finger down the blanket next to his helm. Jazz leaned forward, repeating Prowl's kiss of the blanket next to Hope's helm. As his lips pressed into the fabric, and he felt the warmth of his sparkling's frame, so fractionally close, Jazz finally lost it. He lowered Hope down as his body trembled, and a sob wracked through his systems. Static burst from his vocalizer, biting and ragged. Prowl reached for him, one arm wrapping around Jazz's shoulders, and Jazz went limp, leaning sideways into Prowl.  
Slowly, Wheeljack took Hope from Jazz's arms, carefully extricating the tiny bundle. Prowl's hand lingered on the blanket until Wheeljack walked out of reach. His arm fell haphazardly to his side, limp and useless.  
Jazz was sobbing, heaving in great gusts of air as his systems clenched and churned. "Hope," he whispered, watching Wheeljack walk away. "I love you."

***

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had spent the day base hopping, gathering derelict gear, downloading intel, and destroying tech they couldn't salvage. They never spent time in Skyfire's hold with the Protectobots again, instead traveling from base to base alone. Skyfire wasn't talkative, and Hound had disappeared sometime between the second and third drop off and pick up. By the time the twins returned to the Ark, they were filthy, exhausted, and just wanted to take Prowler and get a decent night of recharge.  
Smokescreen was looking better when they gathered up Prowler. The white static had cleared from his gaze, and he didn't look so shell shocked any longer. Smokescreen had taken Prowler to the Rec room, and Prowler was holding court in the middle of their squad, giggling obliviously as each mech played peek a boo with him. Even Bluestreak, sitting next to Smokescreen, seemed to have loosened up a bit.  
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were heading back for their quarters, Prowler in arms, and looking forward to a quiet night together as a family. Perhaps one of their last nights together on Earth, in fact.  
Instead, the wail of the alert tore through the Ark, and Red Alert's voice called out over the comm system. "Incoming extra-terrestrial attack. All flight-capable Autobots, proceed to the hangar bay. Incoming extra-terrestrial attack."  
As if on cue, Prowler began to cry, burying his face in Sunstreaker's chest as he reached for Sideswipe. The battle alert had never meant good things for Prowler. Sunstreaker cradled Prowler closer to his chest, wrapping him in his arms.  
"Aliens?" Sunstreaker grunted.  
"Well, Megatron blasted out of here to who-knows-where. Anyone could have tracked him." Sideswipe pressed back against the bulkhead as Blades and Slingshot tore down the corridor.  
"Or the Decepticons are bringing back reinforcements."  
"I can't even think of that," Sideswipe groaned. "We can barely move, and the base is already partially disassembled. How can we fend off an attack by the Decepticons and aliens?"  
Sunstreaker shook his helm. Above, the battle alert droned on, and Prowler continued to cry. "They haven't called for fighters yet."  
Sideswipe sighed. "Let's hope it's just an aerial battle, then. C'mon, let's get home, before they do call for us."  
At their doorway, Red Alert's call out changed. "Snipers, report to the hangar bay. Snipers, report to the hangar bay."  
Sideswipe sighed as Sunstreaker threw him a sidelong glance, one optic ridge arched high. "You're the better sniper," Sunstreaker grunted. He stroked over Prowler's back, trying to sooth their fussy sparkling.  
"I know," Sideswipe groused. He pressed a quick kiss to Prowler's head, then a longer kiss to Sunstreaker's lips. "I'll be right back.

***

"Where the hell did these guys come from?" Air Raid shouted at Slingshot as the two Aerialbots screamed higher into the sky. "And who are they?"  
Silverbolt's voice, calm even then, broke over the battlenet. "They aren't Decepticons. I'm not picking up on any Decepticon ident beacons, or any Decepticon flight patterns."  
"What the slag?" Slingshot groused as he started tailing one of the alien spacecraft. Delta shaped and dark iridescent, the spacecraft seemed to slice through the sky, zipping from the edge of the atmosphere and brushing space, then dropping down into the skies of Earth. "Now we have to deal with these guys?"  
"If we stop these guys from attacking, maybe the humans will like us again!" Fireflight perked up, chiming in over the battlenet. "They do have shiny ships, though."  
"Focus, Fireflight," Silverbolt warned. "We're 'dealing with these guys', Slingshot, because we vowed to protect the planet. These guys wouldn't have come here if it wasn't for us-"  
Air Raid finally zeroed in on his alien target. His nav system put him somewhere over Greenland, chasing the delta flyer across half the continent. "Oh yeah?" He chimed. "What if these guys weren't just due for a visit from these aliens? I mean, who has ever heard of an unknown planet like Earth?"  
The sound of laser fire echoed over the battlenet. "Yeah!" Air Raid grunted, trying to avoid his delta flyer's acrobatics and evasive maneuvers. "This planet is seriously cut off from the galaxy!"  
"Careful, Air Raid." Sky Dive was frowning, and the rest of the group could hear it in his comm over the battlenet. "Don't get too close."  
"Earth is cut off from the rest of the galaxy due to its distance from the geographic center of interstellar civilization." Skyfire's deep voice broke over the battlenet suddenly.  
"Skyfire!" Happy shouts and calls of hello rang out. "Thought you weren't able to make it out?"  
"Syncing to the battlenet now. I'll have visuals in thirty seconds," Skyfire reported quickly. "I was stuck in the middle of a retrofit and a simultaneous backup and transfer of Teletraan 1. It wasn't something I could drop at the alert." A pause, as Skyfire synced to the visual data shared among the Aerialbots. "Alright, I see six delta fighters spread out over the northern hemisphere. They're targeting nuclear facilities, according to their flight paths and attempted trajectories."  
"We figured that one out!" Slingshot shouted. His beacon flashed over Fukishima, Japan.  
"Try to bring the flyers down to altitude." Skyfire ignored Slingshot. "They have the most maneuverability in space. Lower atmospheres force them to use their stabilizers and engines more. They'll be less maneuverable."  
"Do you know who these guys are, Skyfire?" Silverbolt grunted, trying to maneuver.  
"I might. They look familiar. But it would have been before I crashed here, and those memories are fragmented."  
Three new voices chimed in, joining the battlenet. "I bet Prowl and Jazz would know who these guys are," Bluestreak mumbled, half grumbling to himself. Static floated over his words, already faint.  
"Blue…" Smokescreen, soft, and in the background.  
"Hey, if you guys can bring them down to altitude, Skyfire might be able get us close enough to get some shots off on their engines." Sideswipe this time, with the sound of his laser rifle loading in the background.  
"You guys onboard Skyfire?" Sky Dive, slowly working his target down with steady fire and corralled flight paths.  
"Yep," Sideswipe answered, his words nearly drowned out by Skyfire's powerful engines burning at high speed in a sudden rush. "And we're headed right for you, Sky Dive."

***

In the end, the last delta flyer was brought down by the Aerialbots together over the Wolf Creek Nuclear power station in Kansas. Skyfire kept forcing the alien craft into the lower atmosphere and Sideswipe, Bluestreak, and Smokescreen kept the flyer from escaping out of their flight lane. The Aerialbots closed ranks and brought the flyer down, sending the alien craft into Wolf Creek dam, right next to the power plant.  
By then, hours had passed, and the flight of the alien delta flyers had spread around the globe. The Aerialbots had brought the flyers down in Japan, France, England, and the United States. The news media around the world had taken note and the Autobots' fight against the alien invaders was plastered across the airwaves.  
Swarms of law enforcement crowded around the Wolf Creek power plant, along with National Guard soldiers. The Aerialbots hung out together in a loose gaggle of nervous energy and frustration, while Bluestreak and Smokescreen stood off to the side, trying to look like they weren't actively keeping guard. Skyfire stood a short ways into the dam, the water up to his knees. He was on the comm with Sideswipe as the red twin dove into the dam, searching for the wreckage of the down alien craft.  
Helicopters droned overhead as fighter jets buzzed at high altitude. Slingshot, standing with his brothers on the bank of the dam, stared forlornly into the sky, watching the human fighters.  
Air Raid elbowed him.  
"Hey!" Slingshot shoved Air Raid, punching him in the shoulder.  
"Knock it off!" Silverbolt snapped. He forcible separated the two bickering brothers, already glaring daggers at each other. "You guys know we need to be on our best behavior!"  
"Why?" Air Raid groused. He kicked at the dirt embankment, sending rocks flying into the water. "The humans don't care 'bout us."  
Silverbolt sighed. His optics gazed over the multitudes of soldiers, the firepower brought out in force, and the wide, panicked eyes surrounding them. "We just want to get this over with and get out of here," he said softly. "Don't make them any more nervous than they already are."  
"I think it will all be alright," Fireflight chirped.  
His brothers groaned and rolled their optics. Silverbolt snorted. He shook his helm as he walked away, moving to join Skyfire at the dam's edge. "Anything?"  
"Sideswipe is almost to the crash site. I'm still getting a faint life sign reading." The rest of the flyers had burst into flames, exploding into shards of debris and nothing. "Given the temperature of the water in this dam, I have a theory as to which species this alien might belong to." Skyfire's optics were faded, and Silverbolt knew he wasn't actually seeing anything in front of him. He was deep underwater, connected to his sensors and sharing feeds with Sideswipe.  
Silverbolt glanced over his shoulder. The humans were looking more nervous every moment. Ambulances and giant semi-trucks had pulled into the area, sirens and flashing lights creating a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds. "They know that this one is still alive?"  
"Yes."  
Silverbolt inched closer. "You sure we should be helping them? I mean, they don't have the best track record with visiting species…"  
Skyfire's lips quirked up, once. "We can help them. Therefore, we should."  
"Prime didn't sanction this, did he?"  
"I haven't received a message from him," Skyfire smoothly deflected. "Ah, Sideswipe has recovered the craft. He's rising now." Skyfire waded deeper into the dam, extending his hand down into the water. A moment later he pulled, tugging Sideswipe above the surface.  
Sideswipe gasped, drawing in a heaving breath. Water flowed off of him, cascading in rivulets down his armor. Half of him was still underwater, the heavy alien craft pulling him down on his left side. He'd swam as hard as he could, using his engine to push for more power as he dragged the crashed craft upward. Skyfire pulled him up again, and Sideswipe stumbled, trying to find his feet. The craft bobbled as it barely broke the surface. Sideswipe was breathing hard, and he finally let go of the craft as Skyfire palmed the delta flyer's center ridge in one of his massive hands.  
Collapsing into the shallow banks, Sideswipe shook his helm as Skyfire lifted the alien flyer out of the dam with one hand and headed for the shore, and for the humans.  
Silverbolt grinned at Sideswipe. "Glad he's on our side, huh?"  
Sideswipe chuckled. "For sure." Together, the two bots watched as Skyfire carefully set the alien craft down on the shoreline and beckoned the humans closer. The rest of the Aerialbots were clustered together around the dam bend, far away from both the craft and the humans. Smokescreen and Bluestreak were standing near the brothers, keeping watch while trying to look like they weren't, and Sideswipe spied Bluestreak's hand resting on Smokescreen's lower back.  
Slowly, and with all of their weapons drawn, and all of their tanks and helicopters, the humans drew closer to Skyfire.  
"Remember when it wasn't like this?" Silverbolt whispered. His optics were fixed on the tanks holding position on his brothers. His fingers itched, wanting to get out of there, and his processor hurt, remembering so many years flying in tandem with the human Air Force.  
"Yeah," Sideswipe said softly. He sighed and dropped his helm between his shoulders. "Having Prowler really pissed them off." He rubbed at a piece of kelp, scratching the drying seaweed off his armor.  
"I remember so many jokes we used to say, and all of the stories we shared with the human pilots." Silverbolt shook his helm. "Fireflight loved the knock knock jokes the best."  
"He would," Sideswipe snorted.  
"Slingshot and Air Raid liked the dirty ones. The ones that went over Fireflight's helm." Silverbolt chuckled. "Then they'd try to one-up Blades back home." Silverbolt's optics darkened, and he shook his helm. "Not home anymore, though, I guess."  
Silence stretched on. The two bots watched Skyfire kneel in the dirt next to the alien craft as the first team of humans finally approached. They were pointing their rifles every which way, at Skyfire and the alien flyer. The tanks backing up the soldiers had been modified with EMP canons, and the HUMVEEs were all loaded with white phosphorus rounds. Mech killers. One nervous trigger, and they would all have a very bad day.  
Sideswipe shook his helm. It wasn't ever supposed to be like this. "How are you guys holding up?" He flicked his helm toward the Aerialbots.  
Silverbolt shrugged. "It's hard. Slingshot and Air Raid are fighting all the time. They're upset, and they don't know how to deal with it. Sky Dive has gone quiet." Silverbolt chuckled, once. "Well, quieter than usual. And Fireflight…" He shook his helm. "He still thinks there will be a miracle and all of this will go away."  
Ahead, Skyfire was still patiently talking to the humans. He was pointing to the flyer, pointing out trigger mechanisms and holding tanks and cockpit control. More and more of the humans' weapons were trained on the alien flyer. Slowly, Skyfire pressed the release for the cockpit. The canopy slid back, revealing the alien tucked inside. Every human turned, their attention focused on the new alien invaders instead of the old.  
Sideswipe craned his neck. "Look like a Viter." Silverbolt frowned. "They're like pirates, but they've also got a stranglehold on the Unincorporated Sectors' merchant shipping. They control trade, for non-aligned planets and species."  
"Non-aligned?" Silverbolt's frown grew.  
"it's a big galaxy out there, 'Bolt," Sideswipe sighed. "I remember bits and pieces from way back when. The Viter have controlled trade for as long as anyone can remember. They live in between the big empires and the Imperiums. We've had to battle them off before, when they thought that Cybertron was a planet to strip mine." Sideswipe swallowed. "The war scared them off, I think. And everyone else. Cybertron, and all mechs, were anathema in the galaxy."  
"Why are they here, then?"  
"Well, this isn't Cybertron, and the humans aren't us." Sideswipe flicked another piece of kelp off his shin, throwing it into the water. "They must have found out about Earth."  
Silence stretched on. Silverbolt's jaw worked up and down, his cables clenching.  
"How are you holding up?" Sideswipe finally broke the silence. He stared at Silverbolt, at the flyer's profile, tense and vibrating.  
Silverbolt swallowed. "I wish I could fix this for them." He looked down. "I hate that this will take them away from the only home they've ever known. Into the galaxy, big and unknown. And full of who knows what." Silverbolt shook his helm, sighing. "If I could find that miracle, I would. I would keep them safe, and away from… pirates, and war, and more Decepticons." He stopped, suddenly. "But, we just have to move forward. I have to be strong for them." His voice broke, growing gravely and choking. Turning, Silverbolt frowned at Sideswipe. "What about you guys? We're mechs, and even though we don't like it, we can deal with this journey. What about Prowler?"  
Sideswipe held Silverbolt's gaze. Fear, uncertainty, and panic clouded his optics, and his jaw clenched as his throat bobbed up and down, one deep swallow. "I think I'm still looking for that miracle, too."

***

Jazz fumbled with Hope's medbay blanket. He worried at the corners, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. At the foot of his medberth, Prowl sat motionless, clutching another medblanket from Hope's tiny bundle. Prowl had grabbed them not long after Ratchet and Wheeljack disappeared into the surgical suite. That had been hours ago, and his fingers were tangled in the soft fabric, immobilized in his nervous grip.  
Swallowing, Jazz shifted, then froze as a blast of pain raced through his body. He panted, trying to be still. He felt like he was about to explode, everywhere. His body was in agony, and his spark… His spark had never felt quite like this ever before. He thought he'd known pain, and grief, and loss. He'd never, ever known.  
He hadn't known anything about anything, really. When it came right down to it, Jazz just didn't know. What was this he was feeling? A swirling malaise of rage, grief, and unending agony crushed him, mixed with guilt – crushing, spark rending guilt – and wrapped up in a panic that threatened to swallow him whole. The day prior, Jazz had been distant, anxious slightly, but putting off his thoughts and emotions about their sparkling. Now, he – Hope – was here.  
And Jazz didn't know what to do.  
Who was he, anymore? The war hero who had fought of Decepticon incursions and mangled Decepticon battle plans seemed far off and away now. Was that truly him? He couldn't recognize that mech in his memories anymore. And what was he now?  
The answer, Jazz thought, was grimly obvious.  
"Prowl?" Jazz whispered. His voice barely carried, scratchy and breathless.  
Prowl didn't move. Didn't even acknowledge that Jazz had spoken. He continued to stare into the distance, gazing at nothing with white-bright optics full of static.  
"Prowl?" Jazz tried again. He forced his voice and cringed at the scratching tearing through his vocalizer. He'd torn his lines, somehow. Somewhere between screaming and sobbing, his vocalizer had given up.  
Jerking slightly, Prowl finally focused back into reality, returning from wherever he had gone. He shook his helm, then squeezed his optics shut. With a heavy sigh, Prowl finally spoke. "What, Jazz?" Prowl whispered, turning to look down at the decking.  
"What do you see when you look at me?"  
That wasn't the question that Prowl was expecting, clearly. He frowned, tilting his helm, and his optics cleared for a moment. Still, Prowl didn't look up and his gaze remained fixed on the rivets in the decking. "I'm actually trying not to look at you, Jazz," Prowl whispered.  
That stung. Jazz looked away quickly. He nodded, short jerks up and down. "I get it," he forced out, through static. "I do, I mean, I understand. What I've done-" He choked off, his words failing. "I've failed everything."  
"I can't do this, Jazz," Prowl pleaded. His voice was still a whisper. "Not now. Please, not now." He squeezed his optics shut.  
Jazz couldn't stop. His spark was breaking, anguish and failure and loss flooding into him, and he gasped against the sudden surge of grief tearing his spark in two. "Primus, Prowl," Jazz breathed. "I'm fragging worthless. I'm awful. I'm the worst mech in the universe." His voice shook, trembling. "What I've done…"  
Prowl's face was pinched and closed, his optics squeezed tight, but he finally cracked. His helm shot up, his overbright optics piercing into Jazz's gaze. "Why, Jazz?" Prowl pleaded. "Why did you cut me out?"  
"I don't know!" Jazz sobbed. He buried his face in Hope's blanket, inhaling his sparkling's soft scent of tungsten and warm steel. "I don't know anything anymore, Prowl! I thought having Hope would be the end of me!" Jazz gasped, hiccupping as his static sobs tore from his throat. He flung one hand toward the surgical suite. "But he's dying, and the only thing in the universe that I want is for him to be alright!" Jazz grasped Hope's blanket, burying his face again. "I don't know what is fragging wrong with me!"  
Prowl's mouth was pinched in a tight line. "Well, at least you are worried about him."  
Jazz stared back at Prowl. "You think I wouldn't care?"  
"How am I supposed to know?" Prowl suddenly shouted. He flew from still and controlled to lashing out, venom and rage and all of his hurt suffusing his words in an astrosecond. "I thought you cared for me, loved me, even! I thought that you were a decent mech! I thought that you wouldn't possibly do absolutely everything that you have done these past months!" Prowl glared hard, pinning Jazz with his gaze. "You said you didn't want Hope and you said you didn't want me."  
Jazz trembled, shaking apart. "I don't know what I want, Prowl," he whispered.  
"I don't even know who you are anymore." Prowl swallowed after his harsh words were bitten off. They hung in the air, scathing and raw.  
Slowly, Jazz shook his helm. "Neither do I," he whispered. Jazz broke down, burying his face in Hope's blanket as his shoulders heaved and wracking sobs tore through his frame. "I have no idea who I am, Prowl," he choked out. "I don't recognize myself. What have I done?"  
"I don't recognize you either," Prowl grunted.  
"Please, Prowl…" Jazz pleaded. "Please. I need help-"  
"I needed help!" Prowl shouted. "I needed you! I needed us! But you left!"  
Shrinking, Jazz tried to disappear. "I'm sorry, Prowl," Jazz whispered. "I'm so sorry."  
Finally, Prowl deflated, as if all of the struts that had been holding him taut with rage were suddenly snapped. "It didn't have to be like this," he sighed, shaking his helm.  
"I don't know any other way," Jazz whispered. He swallowed again, his gears sticking. "I was talking to Mirage…" Jazz shook his helm. It couldn't have been only a few days ago. Seemed like a lifetime away. "I don't know how to just live, Prowl. I have plotted, manipulated, and controlled everything, about everyone, for as long as I can remember. I, I, controlled the Decepticons. I could make them believe anything, do anything. Break any of their operations." Jazz looked down. He could barely recognize that mech now. Who was that mech in his memories, so flashy and exuberant. So confident, so suave. So controlling. "I never let any variables in. I never let any unknowns in. All those years, I never let anyone close because it was too unpredictable." So many years of leaving mech after mech.  
Inhaling, Jazz forced his next words out. His vocalizer choked, grinding hard. "I… tried to be different. I was trying to let go, with you. I wanted… I wanted to make it work." His words cut short.  
Silence. Prowl stared at Jazz, his optics razor sharp and white-bright. "All these years, you have criticized me for being overly distant and overly controlling, and now you say that that's been you all along?"  
Nodding, Jazz picked at Hope's blanket. "How did you do it?" he whispered. "How were you able to let go?"  
Prowl has turned stillness into an art form. Only his optics narrowed. "I told you once before. When we beat the Decepticons the first time, I was finally able to get to know the crew. The twins." Prowl paused, cutting himself off. "You, I thought. I let down those walls I had built. I stopped thinking in terms of 'acceptable losses' and 'required victories.'" He finally moved, shaking his helm. "I wanted to be closer to the mechs. Do you know how good it felt, to be connected?" Prowl offlined his optics. He turned his helm down to the floor. "Unfortunately, you have taught me how very dangerous it is to be open, and to feel." His optics onlined. He still stared at the ground. "To love."  
"Prowl…" Jazz breathed. His vocalizer broke into static. "I was scared," he forced out. "Everything was changing, with us, with everyone else, and then the Decepticons came back. It was … right to fight them again." Jazz picked up speed, talking faster and faster. "I felt so out of control with you, but fighting the Decepticons? That was something I knew I could do."  
"And you never told me any of this?" Prowl interrupted, cold. "You never talked to me once about any of what you were feeling?"  
"I didn't know!" Jazz cried. "I didn't know what was going on, Prowl! I just wanted everything to make sense, and nothing did!" Hiccupping, Jazz tried to stifle the sobs that were threatening to erupt from him. "I thought that I was needed by the Autobots, to fight." He remembered the Command Deck, just the other morning, and the Rec room the night before. He wasn't needed at all.  
"So you threw me aside, endangered yourself, endangered Hope," Prowl's voice shorted suddenly, and he looked away. "Because you wanted to go fight the Decepticons, because that made more sense than talking to me."  
"I didn't know what I was doing," Jazz pleaded. "I still don't, Prowl. I don't know anything."  
Prowl shook his helm. He refused to look at Jazz. "And what is it that you want me to say, Jazz?" he snapped. "I can't give you any answers. I can't get inside your helm. I tried, for months." Prowl finally pierced Jazz with his hard gaze. "I stopped trying to understand you when you finally broke my spark."  
Jazz couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. His whole world was ending, again, in the cold hardness of Prowl's gaze. "Prowl…"  
"You threw me away, Jazz, and I learned to live with it. I've been moving on," Prowl paused, swallowing. "Or working on it, at least. You made your choices clear. I had to adjust mine."  
"I'm scared, Prowl," Jazz whispered. His voice shook, and his optics pleaded with Prowl. "What's going to happen?"  
Prowl looked away. "If Ratchet can pull off a miracle… If Hope survives… you and I have to figure out how to raise Hope separately." He inhaled, dragging a great rush of air through his intakes. "If Hope doesn't survive…" Prowl shook his helm slowly.  
"I'm so sorry," Jazz tried to say. He couldn't force the words out, though, and he ended up just mouthing the words to the back of Prowl's helm. "I wish things could be different," Jazz finally whispered, his voice static-filled and wavering.  
Prowl's optics squeezed shut, and he lowered his helm until he was staring at the floor. "I wish you would have loved me, Jazz," Prowl finally whispered, "even half as much as I loved you."

***

"Laser scalpel." Ratchet held his hand out, not taking his optics off of the magnified, exploded holo-picture of Hope's tiny frame. The holo-view floated over Hope's body on the medberth, where Hope himself was strapped down, as carefully as Wheeljack could.  
Wheeljack set the micro laser scalpel in Ratchet's waiting palm. By agreement, they had dropped the 'micro' prefix when asking for tools. There wasn't a single full sized tool that they were using. "The density along the posterior lower fifth of his spark chamber is thicker than any other area," Wheeljack said, soft and low. "That would be a good place to harvest the metal we need."  
"I saw that too," Ratchet replied, his voice equally clam, equally level. "We're agreed."  
"Confirmed," Wheeljack said. He breathed evenly, forcing himself not to gasp, not to startle, not to react in any way as Ratchet, slowly and calmly, began slicing into Hope's spark chamber. It would take a while to shave the slip that they needed, and there was no rushing this process.  
Beneath Ratchet's hands, Hope lay motionless, spread out and strapped down. He looked microscopic beneath Ratchet's hands, not normally considered overly large. A tiny tubule snaked through Hope's nose, pushing a slow stream of warm air into his engine. Hope's optics were secured shut, medical gel and sealant covering their exposed and under-formed parts. Tiny motors, used for Skyfire's fingers, were attached to micropumps, which fed via single wires into Hope's engine pistons. It was a slow, jury-rigged, and time-limited set up that was keeping Hope alive while they operated. It wouldn't last forever, and Hope either had to survive, or ….  
Silence filled the surgical suite as Ratchet's hands moved in micrometers, slowly cutting.  
"I heard from Skyfire earlier," Wheeljack breathed, speaking in careful cadence. Each word was level and equal, designed to not startle. "About what's going on out there."  
'Out there' meant outside of the medbay. Anything outside of the tiny world Ratchet's life had collapsed to. Anything outside of Hope, Jazz, and Prowl. "And?"  
"I figure you're not evacuating, no matter what Prime says," Wheeljack breathed.  
"I won't move a single tool out of the medbay until all of my patients walk out on their own power." Ratchet's hands never slipped, never missed a motion. "If I'm the last mech on the planet, then so be it."  
"You won't be the last mech." Wheeljack paused as Ratchet's cut started curving down the side of Hope's spark chamber. "You know I'll be there with you, no matter what."  
A small smile from Ratchet. "I do now."  
Wheeljack smiled back.  
Next to Wheeljack, Hope's monitor wavered. A motor slowed, then stopped.  
The monitor alarm wailed, shrieking high alert.

***

Sideswipe jogged down the corridor, glancing over his shoulder. No one around. He ducked into Skyfire's lab, slapping at the door pad to shut behind him quickly.  
Inside, Skyfire stood with his arms crossed, his face schooled in a taut, worried expression. Hot Spot and Silverbolt sat and stood before him, respectively. Hot Spot was perched on the lab bench, one foot idly swinging. Nerves, most like, Sideswipe thought. He swallowed and strode toward the group.  
"We're in," Hot Spot said without preamble. "All of us."  
"Us too," Silverbolt added. He tried to smile at Sideswipe, though it was worried and lopsided.  
"Yeah, Sunny and me too," Sideswipe nodded. "And Prowler," he added.  
The group chuckled, faintly. Skyfire even tried to grin. "Can't imagine you'd leave him," he said. "You three are closer than I've ever seen a family."  
Sideswipe beamed, though the smile faded quickly. "So…" he trailed off. "Are we it?"  
Skyfire shook his helm. "Wheeljack says Ratchet isn't budging, no matter what. And he's not going if Ratchet isn't going."  
"With First Aid staying, that leaves just Hoist for repairs and medical." Hot Spot frowned.  
"And Swoop," Skyfire reminded. Hot Spot grimaced.  
Behind the group, Skyfire's lab doors slid open. All four turned to look, wide optics and guilty expressions on their faces.  
Bluestreak and Hound slipped inside, then slapped the door shut. Hound moved to the group's side quickly. Bluestreak met Sideswipe's optics. He hesitated, swallowing. Sideswipe tried to smile at his old friend. Slowly, Bluestreak headed towards them.  
"We're in," Hound said softly. "Mirage said yes."  
Nods all around. Helms turned to Bluestreak, optics questioning. "Smokescreen and I are in, too," Bluestreak whispered. "He doesn't want to leave his friends." Bluestreak looked down.  
"We're up to 19," Silverbolt breathed.  
"What about Bumblebee?" Bluestreak asked Hound quietly.  
"Mirage said he'll never leave Optimus," Hound replied. He paused, and silence hung in the air. "So, what's the actual plan?"  
All optics turned to Skyfire. "I made positive contact with the humans during the alien attack," he said carefully. "I am confident we can build a new partnership based on their desires for protection and assistance. The rest of the galaxy knows about Earth now. This won't be the last attack."  
"Would we stay on the Ark?" Silverbolt fidgeted, his hands clasping and unclasping.  
Nodding, Skyfire pursed his lips. "I would want to. I don't see a reason why we couldn't."  
More silence, as each mech thought about what they were agreeing to. Splitting from Optimus, breaking away from the Autobots. Staying behind on a relatively hostile world and trying to create something new with 19 mechs. Was it madness? Was this the worse choice than leaving in the convoy?  
Sideswipe didn't know how Prowler could survive the convoy. Not in such cramped quarters, and with no guarantee of where they were headed. And, without even enough fuel to make the journey from the get go. Where would they go, for more energon? To the Imperiums? To the black market? To Viter-controlled space? Were any of those options right for a sparkling?  
No. He and Sunstreaker had agreed. For their family, for Prowler, the right choice was to remain behind. They were ready to do it alone, the three of them alone on the planet. And then Hot Spot, and Silverbolt, and Skyfire. Surprisingly, Hound and Bluestreak.  
"What about Jazz and Prowl?" Bluestreak said softly. He swallowed and refused to meet anyone's gaze.  
Uncomfortable silence stretched thin. "Wheeljack said they're in the medbay to stay," Skyfire finally answered. No one had seen or heard from either mech since Jazz's collapse on the Command Deck. "It's… not looking good for their sparkling."  
"So," Hound finally asked, breaking the pall. "Who is going to tell Optimus?"  
Not a mech spoke, or breathed, or moved. Optics glanced at one another, then broke away quickly.  
"We will," Sideswipe finally said. "We started this." He nodded. "We'll bring this to Optimus."

***

In the end, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker decided not to bring the conversation straight to Optimus. Together, with Prowler in their arms, the two mechs stood before Ironhide's quarters. Sideswipe rocked back and forth on his feet. They hadn't spoken to Ironhide since before Prowler, and the last time Ironhide had said anything to Sideswipe, it had been vicious, and delivered with a rifle stock to his face. He didn't know how this would go.  
But, out of all of the mechs in the universe, Ironhide had been the closest thing Sunstreaker and he had ever had to family. If they were leaving, if they were splitting off, then Ironhide deserved to know first.  
Ironhide was stunned speechless when he slid open his door to find the three of them waiting. He'd motioned them in silently, optics wide, and guided them to the couch. Too nervous to sit, Sideswipe instead just started talking, speaking too fast until Sunstreaker interjected. They both spoke together, then, trading parts of the explanation as Prowler fidgeted in Sunstreaker's arms.  
Ironhide was slumped on the couch, his face buried in his hands, when they finished. He didn't speak for a long moment. "You're serious?" he finally grunted.  
"Yes," Sunstreaker said. His voice was firm. "It's what is right for us."  
Next to him, Sideswipe nodded. "We have to think about Prowler, Ironhide." In Sunstreaker's arm, Prowler wiggled, mouthing at his wrist. Sunstreaker's hand stroked down his helm, and Prowler grabbed onto Sunstreaker's fingers.  
Ironhide sighed, long and heavy. "You realize what this means, right? That you all will be alone, cut off, with no way of ever coming back?"  
"Yes," Sideswipe wasn't fidgeting anymore. "But this is the right choice. We can't take the risks of this trip. We can't put Prowler through that. Would any parent put their young through such a risk?"  
Ironhide was silent. He stared at the twins. His optics dropped to Prowler.  
Finally, he moved, sighing as he pushed himself to his feet. "I'll go tell Prime."

***

It was always in the middle of the night, Ratchet thought. Always.  
Ratchet crossed his arms and stared out over Jazz's medberth. Jazz was offline, recharging fitfully with a heavy frown on his face. At the foot of his berth, Prowl had collapsed forward, resting his helm on his folded arms. He, too, was solidly offline.  
Both held blankets from Hope's old medberth in their hands.  
Swallowing, Ratchet shifted. He didn't want to wake them.


	14. Chapter 14

**8 Weeks Later**

 

Sideswipe mimed explosive noises as he plodded along behind Prowler. Prowler had his hands in the air, fingers gripping onto Sideswipe's, and the two walked – albeit slowly – down the Ark corridor. With every step, Sideswipe mimed another crashing explosion, and Prowler giggled with delight. He tried to speed up, to get Sideswipe to play faster, but he nearly lost his footing. Sideswipe hauled Prowled into the air, swinging his sparkling up by the arms as he whistled.  
Prowler shrieked with glee.  
Sideswipe lowered Prowler down to the decking, and Prowler found his footing once more. Next to them, Sunstreaker smiled, soft and small, and shared a private glance with Sideswipe.  
Prowler had started walking a few weeks ago. He was making fast progress, woe to the Ark, and could walk on his own while holding tight to the bulkheads or to any sturdy object – mech or furniture. Prowler was insatiable, and after making the laps of their quarters, the twins headed out into the Ark for more footpaths.  
Squealing suddenly, Prowler lurched forward, trying to move faster. Sideswipe caught him again before he fell, but this time, he saw what had captivated Prowler so intently. Ahead of them, Wheeljack had just appeared, heading to the Command Deck from the cross corridor.  
"Wheeljack!" Sunstreaker called out. The inventor turned, his audial fins flashing. "Wait up!"  
Wheeljack waited, and for Prowler's benefit, started flashing his audial fins in all the colors Prowler liked. Prowler squirmed, nearly bolting from Sideswipe's arms, and demanded to be let down to walk to Wheeljack. Or try to run again, most like.  
"Hey guys." Wheeljack nodded to the twins. "What are you up to?"  
"Just out for a stroll. Bug is about to recreate the Iaconian Marathon." Sideswipe smiled down at Prowler as Prowler strained against his handhold in a bid for walking freedom.  
Chuckling, Wheeljack held out his hands. "I can take 'im."  
Sideswipe gladly passed Prowler over to Wheeljack. Prowler wiggled, nearly bouncing as he walked, and laughed out loud as he took Wheeljack's hands. "Where are you headed?  
"Command Deck." Wheeljack walked in reverse, letting Prowler walk toward him. "I've got some satellite test feeds I want to analyze up there."  
"Who is on duty tonight?"  
"'Bolt." Wheeljack flashed his fins for Prowler. Prowler tried to run again. He caught himself before he slipped, and he grinned at Wheeljack, sly, as if sharing a secret away from Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.  
"Cool." Sideswipe laced his fingers with Sunstreaker. "He won't mind if we crash the Deck."  
The group continued down the corridor. Only the sounds of Prowler's giggles and uneven footfalls could be heard. Sunstreaker squeezed down on Sideswipe's hand suddenly. He pulled to a stop.  
"What is it, Sunny?" Sideswipe motioned Wheeljack on. Prowler was too wrapped up in his marathon walking to notice his parents stopping.  
Sunstreaker jerked his helm toward the locked office door just ahead. "That's Prowl's office," he grunted.  
Chewing his lip, Sideswipe stared at the sealed doors. Eight weeks, and Prowl hadn't been seen or heard from once. He wasn't working, that was for sure. His office was cold and offline, the door nearly dusty and rusted. Sideswipe sighed. "We have to give him time," he said softly. He squeezed Sunstreaker's hand again.  
"I just wish we could help," Sunstreaker grumbled.  
"We will." Sideswipe smiled and tugged his brother after Prowler and Wheeljack. The two were about to reach the Command Deck, and Sideswipe wanted to see the look on Prowler's face when he saw all of the lights and monitors – a veritable electronic playground of excitement - on the Deck. "We'll always be there for him, like he is for us."  
Sunstreaker nodded and squeezed back. "Yeah," he said. "Always."

***

Prime gazed out the shuttle window. Next to him, Trailbreaker scanned the terrain, searching for landmarks that they could use. Maps tumbled by on the monitor screens, geographic features rising and falling. Everything faded from Prime's optics as he let the dusty landscape and the stars blur in his vision. His thoughts turned inward, pensive, and not for the first time, he wondered if he had done the right thing.  
"Sir?" Trailbreaker, hesitant. Trailbreaker didn't know how to address this new version of Prime. New? Old? How long had Prime had this growl in his chest, this deep, painful pull on his spark?  
"Yes, Trailbreaker?" He was working on it, at the least. Trying to. Trying to be the leader that the mechs deserved.  
"We've mapped several sites that meet the parameters of our search. There are approximately seven locations that could be used as an initial landing site, with five viable for direct expansion."  
Prime smiled faintly. Ironhide was going to be having fun again. "Thank you, Trailbreaker." He activated the comm, leaning into the console a little too hard. His exhaustion was beginning to show. "Ironhide," he called out. "We're going to be setting down again shortly. Get your crew together for surface exploration."  
Ironhide's cheery voice bounded over the comm lines. Even Trailbreaker smiled. "Aw, Prime, you know I love this part."  
"I know you do," Prime chuckled. "Go find us a new place to live, Ironhide." As Prime spoke, 'Bee was swinging the shuttle around and preparing the landing vector. "We'll be on the surface in a few minutes."  
"Looking forward to breaking ground, Optimus. I'll ping ya when we find the new home. Ironhide out."  
Everyone was smiling on the shuttle's flight deck, except Prime. Even Trailbreaker had loosened up and was chuckling with 'Bee. Prime sighed, trying to force the lightness back into his spark. He had to be positive. He had to.  
It wasn't working.  
As 'Bee brought the shuttle around for the final approach at the first set of coordinates, the shuttle crossed the terminator of the Moon, crossing from the dark side and back into the light. Earth rose over the moonscape, blue and lush, wrapped in wisps of white clouds, with only streaks of land dotting through. Eight weeks ago, everything had fallen apart, and eight weeks ago, he'd made a decision. At the time, it had felt right, and just, and a long time coming. It had been time to leave Earth.  
Apparently the crew hadn't agreed. Twenty Autobots had decided to remain behind. To leave the Autobots and stay on Earth. Twenty.  
The fracture would have been too gigantic to contain. He couldn't, in all of his years, allow the fragile remnants of their race to split apart. And, against his worries and his fears, Prime had made a call to the humans, eight weeks ago. The new treaty was being finalized – and the scouting mission to the moon was a large part of that – but still… Prime was uneasy.  
_It's because you're alone_ , his spark whispered.  
_Nonsense._ Prime sighed, then shook his helm. He was arguing with himself again. That wasn't very leaderly. He needed to get a hold of himself.  
Still, a part of him was right. He was alone, in a certain way. Ironhide was his closest friend, and a great sounding board, but Ironhide was reactive, instinctive, and – though he denied it – a total hedonist. Trailbreaker, for all of Prowl's mentoring, was still a junior tactician, and hadn't mastered the difficult skill of countering Prime, or confronting his occasional moods.  
Prowl, however, was an expert at Prime-handling. As was Jazz.  
Or at least, they had been. Since their relationship had started, the two only seemed to have optics for each other. He hadn't minded. Let his officers, his friends, have their joy. He was happy for them, for – unexpectedly – finding love in each other's sparks. Until… Well, he wasn't quite sure what had happened, exactly, but suddenly Jazz was sparked, furious, and shutting Prowl out, and Prowl was frantic, panicked, and had entirely lost his objectivity. The confrontation at NASA had been disastrous, in large part because of their lack of cohesion.  
And after that, they'd said it was over. The sparkling, for one. Their relationship, another. Prime hadn't had to hear the words to know it was the end of the line for the two of them. Prowl's melting optics and Jazz's clenched jaw spoke of anger and pain that hadn't found healing, and of unspoken words and sparks full of hurt.  
He'd wanted to help, but how? How, when the world was falling apart and Megatron was trying to destroy everything and everyone, and only duplicitous allies, lies, and heaps of blame were to be found. He had an army – the remains of a civilization – to lead. How could he stop and help two mechs?  
The back of his processor screamed at him. _That's exactly what you should have done!_  
Prime shook his helm again. The past was the past. What was done was done. He could only move forward, as uncertainly as he felt. Into the new alliance. Into their future home, Moon Base 1, to start.  
Into the dawn of their new civilization.  
Still, Prime frowned. The dawn of their new civilization. They were off to an unfortunate start.  
His spark thrummed with unease. Deep within, pain sat at the center of his soul. How had things gone so awry, so off balance?  
What was the right way forward?

***

Just before dawn, and Jazz's quarters were dark and silent. Crypt-like, his quarters were shrouded in exhaustion and gloom. Jazz's optics pierced through the blackness, cutting swaths of underpowered blue light across the deck. He always onlined just before dawn, pulled online by his spark and his incredible, unending shame.  
Jazz's optics finally fell on Prowl's offline form. Prowl was recharging on Jazz's couch, flopped down in exhaustion, his doorwings spread akimbo. One leg lay flopped off the side of the couch, his heel resting on the floor. In his arms, Prowl held Hope gently, wrapped up in one of the medical blankets. A medbay monitor and power pack was strapped around the blanket, and a small tube of air snaked from the monitor to Hope, and descended into his body through his nose. Pressurized airflow, warmed and humidified, helped power Hope's engine. His optics were still covered, still sealed with gel nanites and medbay seals to protect their final growth.  
Prowl barely fit on the couch, but he refused to move. Jazz sighed, shifting restlessly on his empty berth. Eight weeks, and they'd finally brought home Hope. Eight weeks of around the clock medbay vigils, surgery after surgery, restless nights and endless days of standing silent watch over Hope's medberth.  
And, silence and a rigid stiffness from Prowl. Despite being inseparable while caring for Hope in the medbay, Prowl hadn't said more than five words to Jazz since their brutal argument during Hope's surgery. He was stalwart in his silence, immutable in his distance. To an outsider, Jazz was nothing to Prowl. Nothing more than someone who happened to be caring for their sparkling alongside him.  
Jazz himself had undergone five surgeries to repair and reconstruct a new internal strut support system, due to the permanent absence of his gestational tank. Each time, Prowl had silently stayed away, staying with Hope while Jazz was in surgery. The first few times, Jazz had hoped that Prowl would be there when he onlined, at least.  
No such luck.  
Brining Hope home – or, at least, back to Jazz's quarters – had been a day that should have been joyful, bursting with celebration. Instead, Prowl carried Hope as Jazz hobbled, still unsteady and weak, back to Jazz's quarters in silence. Only the beep and hiss of Hope's monitor and oxygen tank cut the unspoken words hanging in the air between them to ribbons. And, since bringing Hope home the week before, there still hadn't been a break in the tension. Jazz was building his strength back, and caring one on one for Hope was too demanding for his healing frame. Prowl stayed in Jazz's quarters by unspoken agreement, recharging on the couch and carefully skirting any interaction with Jazz other than passing Hope back and forth and asking to pass the energon.  
Swallowing, Jazz let his optics linger on Prowl's exhausted from. Hope lay in his arms, tucked against Prowl's chest plating. It hurt to look at the two of them, but Jazz forced himself to. He didn't know how much longer he'd have this luxury – the two mechs who meant the most to him in the universe in one place, together – and he wanted to soak up every moment.  
Never mind that Prowl hated him to his core. He understood that. He deserved it, really.  
He would never earn Prowl's forgiveness for what he'd done.  
And the irony was, now, now that everything was done and everything that had happened had happened, the one thing Jazz wanted more than anything else… was Prowl. The one mech he'd thrown away, and the one life he'd ran from, the one choice that had been too anxiety-filled and wreaking to consider… was the only life he ever dreamed for.  
These stolen moments, then, were what Jazz lived for. Watching Prowl and Hope recharging together in the quiet stillness of his quarters. He could pretend, for the moment, that everything was different. That Prowl would online and smile at him. That Hope wouldn't need the monitor any longer. That he'd be able to look Hope in the optics.  
Sighing, Jazz pulled himself slowly into a sitting position. He still had so much pain, but he knew that wasn't entirely physical. His spark ached constantly, yearning, and there was no fixing that.  
Across Jazz's quarters, Prowl stirred. His optics flickered, powering up after a long moment. They were underpowered, testament to a long night spent caring for Hope. Hope woke nearly every hour, hungry, uncomfortable, and sometimes struggling to breathe.  
More than one form of tension lined the walls.  
"Morning," Jazz whispered across his quarters.  
As always, Prowl ignored him.

***

Prime stood shoulder to shoulder with Skyfire in the Astrometrics lab, deep within the Ark. Star maps of the galaxy stretched wide on the monitors all around, displaying so many different vector and paths and regions. Viter space, the Imperiums. Cybertron's old orbital plane, long abandoned. Dead space. Badlands. The commercial shipping lanes. Empty space.  
Criss-crossing lines weaved in and out of the sectors, stretching in all different directions. Possible flight paths and destinations of the Deceptions were really just guesses; not even educated guesses. Skyfire tried, as best he could, to proximate what the Decepticons were up to and where they were headed. The galaxy was simply so large that he couldn't actually come up with anything useful.  
Sighing, Skyfire tossed his pad down on the terminal casing. The clink was overly loud in the spacious lab. "There's nothing useful here, Prime. We are just confusing ourselves more. We know less about the 'Cons than we did before they blasted off out of here."  
"And they took us by complete surprise," Prime grumbled.  
Skyfire was silent.  
"It is unacceptable to me that we just let Megatron go like this." Prime's voice had settled into a permanent growl. His brow was furrowed and set with grim lines of frustrated anger. "How can we let loose our war criminal on the galaxy, and not try to bring him to justice?"  
For a long moment, Skyfire said nothing. Finally, he spoke. His voice was low, but firm. "Are you sure this is about justice?"  
Prime's helm slowly pivoted, and he fixed Skyfire with a hard stare.  
"Are you sure you aren't chasing Megatron because that's what we've always done? Because that's what will get you back into the war, and away from here?" Skyfire swallowed, but continued, ignoring the narrowing of Prime's optics. "You aren't comfortable here with the humans. Not since the treaty was cancelled. I don't know why you changed your mind about leaving, but you've been obviously uncomfortable about it ever since. And I think," Skyfire gestured to the star maps, "that all of this, all of this obsessive searching, is really your plans to chase after Megatron again. I think," Skyfire finally slowed down, though he still held Prime's gaze firmly. "That you are searching for reasons to leave, and Megatron and the Decepticons have always provided you with a reason to chase."  
Prime didn't say a word. His optics were ice, frigid, and burning into Skyfire with blistering rage.  
"But we don't need to do that anymore," Skyfire nearly pleaded. His voice was still strong, but there was a desperate edge to his words. "We aren't the only ones in the galaxy capable of stopping Megatron. We ran rampant on the galaxy before, and look where that got us?" Anathema and exiled from the galactic community was where that got them, as a species. "If Megatron crosses the Imperiums, or is arrogant enough to think that he can ignore the Viter, then he's got his own battles to fight."  
"You would allow our war criminal to go free in the galaxy, doing Primus knows what?" Prime wasn't speaking anymore. He was growling, near bursting with rage.  
"We don't have to destroy ourselves and our future trying to attack the past." Skyfire shook his helm. "And we don't have to do any of this alone. We can rejoin the galactic community. We can ask for help. Megatron is a wanted criminal in at least 20 different star systems. We're not the only ones who want to find him."  
"And what would you rather I do?" Prime was keenly aware of Skyfire's role as near-leader of the almost-breakaway Earth-Autobot almost-faction. Did they still consider themselves a faction, now that the purpose behind their near-mutiny was no longer needed?  
Skyfire inhaled deeply. "I would focus on life," he breathed. "I would focus on our future and what's in our control. Building our future, both here and long term. Securing our safety and our happiness." Pausing, Skyfire swallowed. "We could use some happiness, Prime. We all could."  
Prime finally looked away. He stared over the star maps, over all the myriad possibilities of where Megatron could be, and why he might have fled to this system, or that star cluster. Or that dead space pocket. Or that black hole. Or to that quasar. A galaxy of possibilities lay before him. He could search his entire life and never find Megatron, never even come close.  
Was giving up the answer, though? Wasn't that letting Megatron win? He'd beaten Megatron once, had him on the run and on the ropes, and if it hadn't have been for the Decepticons figuring out how to power their army with sparkling proto-sparks, he'd have had him. He would have beaten Megatron.  
Now, Megatron was free, on the run, and loose in the galaxy. His spark screamed at him to give chase, to hold no quarter, to find Megatron and tear him from the universe.  
Did no Autobot feel the same?  
"Your opinion is noted." Without another word, Prime turned on his heel and strode from the lab, leaving his frigid rage and the harshness of his words hanging in the air.

***

There was one place Prime could go for honest commentary. Honest conversation. One place – and two mechs – who he trusted with his life, and the lives of all the Autobots, and who had helped him make the toughest decisions he'd ever made all throughout his command.  
_Well. Except for the past 6 months._ Prime pushed that thought aside.  
Prowl and Jazz had been the backbone and lynchpin of the Autobots – and of Prime's consciousness and sanity – for longer than he could even remember. He couldn't recall a time when he didn't turn to his two friends and advisors. Though they often disagreed – at least, in the past – they were always operating with the best desires and intentions for the Autobots.  
So why was he fidgeting in front of Jazz's quarters, hesitating to ring for entry?  
He hadn't seen – or heard from – Prowl or Jazz since that fateful day on the Command Deck. And even then, ever since he'd reprimanded their roasted and charred bodies just after NASA and just before the failed space battle, he hadn't had much contact with either officer. He'd given his condolences to Prowl, and had thought they had terminated their sparkling. He didn't know Jazz's carrying had continued.  
He'd grown so distant from his two friends. Or had they grown distant from him?  
What was he about to walk into? Jazz and Prowl had fallen apart in devastating fashion, near crippling the Autobots in their fallout. Only the crews' strength in coming together to support Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, and Prowler had kept the crew from fracturing entirely. Especially in the complete absence of any kind of leadership. Prime knew, with a sinking recognition of failure, that he'd been absent from the crew during the past six months, and as Prowl and Jazz had fractured and fallen apart, he'd fractured as well, coalescing with rage at the humans' betrayal.  
So, now what? Prowl and Jazz were inside, and Primus-knew-what was waiting for Prime on the other side of the door. And, what was he going to do himself, when his spark was urging him to give chase to Megatron, and the crew was exhaling and looking forward to beginning the rest of their lives and dreaming of futures with safety and love.  
Nothing for it but to push ahead. Prime needed his friends, his confidants. What was the right path forward? To give chase to Megatron, he'd need Jazz on his side. Of all the mechs, Jazz had a lust for battle, and for victory, that outmatched even himself. He wasn't as bloodthirsty as Blades or Sunstreaker, but if Prime could convince Jazz, they'd have a real chance in going after – and destroying – Megatron.  
Prime pressed the keypad.

***

At the chime of the door, Prowl blearily onlined his optics. They flickered with low charge, barely up to full power. Across Jazz's quarters, Jazz gently rocked Hope in his arms, carefully feeding Hope from a pipette of fortified energon. Hope wasn't strong enough for regular feedings from their lines yet.  
Jazz met Prowl's dim optics with a confused stare of his own. No one, but no one, came to Jazz's quarters. Ratchet comm'd in three times a day, but the doors hadn't been opened since the three of them had hobbled in over a week ago.  
Prowl tried to stand, but he stumbled, and sank back down into the couch. Jazz started, jumping to his feet, and moved toward Prowl, trying to help. Instantly, Prowl's hand shot up, halting Jazz in his tracks. "I'm fine," Prowl snapped. His voice was pitched low, though, trying to be gentle around Hope. "Why don't you go see who that is?"  
Stopped short, Jazz nodded. He couldn't look at Prowl, instead looking at the bulkhead over Prowl's shoulder. He couldn't speak, either, and his words were swallowed in his clenching throat. Prowl's distance, his rejection, stung. Jazz wasn't used to being on the receiving end of rejection. Was this how it felt, to be summarily dismissed? Jazz's spark ached, cursing himself and all of his folly.  
Cradling Hope close to his chest, Jazz headed slowly toward the door. Hope curled against Jazz, nuzzling his plating with his cheek. The bundle of blankets Hope was wrapped in swallowed him up. He was still tiny, though he had almost doubled in size from when he was only the size of Prowl's palm.  
Inhaling, Jazz hesitated before buzzing their visitor for entry. He wanted the world to disappear and for everything outside of the four walls in his quarters to vanish. He didn't want anyone to break his oh-so-fragile hope for the future.  
He pressed the palm pad, letting the door slide open.  
Prime hovered in the doorway, stock-still and stiff, rigid and tense. Light from the corridors fractured around his frame, spilling into Jazz's dark quarters in harsh angles. They had kept the lights low, dimmed to almost darkness, in order to protect Hope's fragile optics behind his med seals.  
"Optimus!" Jazz reared back, surprised to see his old friend and commander stalking his doorway. His jaw dropped, and he scrambled to recover. "Uhh, come in?"  
Slowly, Prime walked in. Jazz watched his optics travel over every surface, taking in all of the changes to Jazz's quarters. He lingered on piles of empty energon cubes and the stacks of empty additive tubules. The couch, formerly in the center of the sitting area, had been pushed to the far wall, where Prowl sat, leaning forward. Where the couch had been, Hope's mini-berth sat on a cart, and medical monitors, oxygen tanks, energon blocks, and additive tubules surrounded Hope's berth haphazardly. Containers of pipettes and medbay sealant crowded the floor, alongside piles of blankets and heat lamps. Wheeljack had brought a mountain of supplies to Jazz's quarters ahead of their return.  
It was prowl who had pushed the couch against the far wall, taking over the furthest space in the room from Jazz and setting up camp on the far-too-narrow surface. Between Hope's constant needs during the night, and the too-small couch, Prowl was chronically underpowered. Jazz had offered, over and over again, for him to use the berth. Prowl refused every time.  
Prime's optics took everything in - the darkened quarters, the clutter and mess of energon cubes, Hope's mountainous array of equipment, Prowl's hunch on the couch, on the far side of the room, and, finally, on Hope and Jazz.  
Uncharacteristically nervous, Jazz fidgeted. He cradled Hope closer to him. "What can we do for you, Prime?" he choked out. He refused to apologize for his quarters, not when his priority was keeping Hope and Prowl online and functioning. Energon cube clutter could wait.  
Silence. Prime shifted. His optics flicked to Prowl, then back to Jazz, and finally, dropped to Hope. "It has been a long time," he breathed. "How are you three doing?"  
More silence, strained to the point of breaking. How did you explain the daily agonies and the daily triumphs, that came with Hope's too-early emergence? The agony of living, and the grief-tinged victories they celebrated, while knowing they shouldn't need to be celebrating Hope's almost-ability to breathe on his own, or his now-functioning engine. And how did Jazz even begin to explain the anguish in his spark and his fervent wish to turn back time and to fling himself into Prowl's arms and never, ever let go?  
"We're okay," Jazz mumbled. "It's... hard."  
Prowl didn't say a word. He hadn't moved, hadn't acknowledged Prime's entrance at all, aside from the narrowing of his optics. He sat, elbows propped on his knees, doorwings low and scraping on the couch.  
"Is there... anything that I can do?" Prime offered.  
Jazz shook his helm. "No, it's just a day at a time." Hope wrinkled his face, pressing into Jazz's armor, Jazz patted his back, stroking softly. "Is there something we can do for you, Prime?"  
Prime cleared his throat, grinding his gears. He looked around, trying to find a place to sit. There wasn't anywhere. He stood instead, clenching his hands into fists. "Actually, there is." Prime glanced sideways, trying to meet Prowl's gaze. Prowl's optics only narrowed further. "I need your guys' advice," he rumbled. "You've always kept me honest. I need your help again."  
Jazz tried to smile at the compliment. He didn't feel like that mech any more. "I'll try, Prime. What do you need?"  
"The humans want to renew our treaty. That alien attack on their nuclear facilities scared the planetary governments. They're not ready for the full brunt of the galactic neighborhood bearing down. They've asked us to help get them up to speed in order to hold their own with the rest of the galaxy's inhabitants."  
Jazz smiled, thin. "That will take a lot of work. The humans are extremely underdeveloped compared to even the smaller conclaves."  
"Yes," Prime rumbled. "This would not be a short treaty. They are asking for significant assistance – new weapons, new defenses, new bases, an aggressive push out to space. Space bases. Full training for space operations."  
"In exchange for what?" Prowl finally spoke, grunting from his far corner.  
"All restrictions lifted." Prime stared Prowl down. "I would agree to nothing less. If we remain, we are allowed to expand as needed to support the treaty goals. This would mean space bases, a moon complex, new technology, new headquarters on Earth. Exploration and trade missions into deep space. And…" Prime faded off. "No restrictions on anyone's plans to start – or expand – a family."  
"That sounds… incredible, Prime," Jazz breathed. "That's fantastic. We both can get what we need."  
Prime frowned and stared at Jazz. "But we would be letting Megatron go."  
"Good riddance." Jazz rocked Hope gently.  
"But… we would be letting Megatron go," Prime repeated, slowly. "He would be free to roam the galaxy, try to conquer other planets. Wreak havoc on other systems. We would not be able to hold him accountable for his crimes!"  
Swallowing, Jazz shook his helm. "Optimus, it's a big galaxy," he said softly. "We're not the only ones who want to see Megatron dead. He wreaked a lot of worlds in this war, made a lot of enemies. And he's blasted off with what, an underpowered army and a human space shuttle?" Jazz continued to rock gently, back and forth. "He's not getting far, and even if he does manage to survive, to escape the Imperiums and all of the bounties on his helm, he's not going to have an easy go of it out there."  
"I can't believe you're saying this, Jazz." Prime stood stunned, his optics blazing.  
Jazz took a moment to respond. "Things are different, Optimus," he finally said softly. "Yeah, I wanted to see the 'Cons destroyed, probably more than most. I wanted to be out there, tearing it up." He exhaled, clenching his optics shut. "But look where that got me, Optimus?" He shook his helm. "My focus is on my future now, my future. Not the Decepticons. Mine, and Hope here. I gave my life fighting the 'Cons. I gave up all of the good bits to them." Jazz purposely did not look at Prowl. "Did I want to bring Megatron's helm to you on a platter? Yeah." Jazz shook his helm again. "But now, I just want them to be far, far away." He chewed his lip. "I want to be selfish, Optimus. I want someone else to take care of Megatron. I want to focus on what's important, really important."  
"And that's Hope?" Prime gestured weakly toward Hope's bundle.  
Jazz grimaced. "Hope is one." He didn't continue.  
"So… you don't think we should send an attack party after the Decepticons, chase Megatron down and bring him to justice? And you don't want to lead that attack party?"  
"No." Jazz shook his helm. "My days fighting are done, Prime. My focus is different now. Should Megatron pay? Yes. But don't ask me to lead that parade."  
Prime held Jazz's gaze for a long moment. "And what about you, Prowl?" Prime finally said. He peered over his shoulder, fixing Prowl's optics in the darkness. "What do you think?"  
Silence. Prowl lowered his helm. Blue pooled from his optics and fell to the floor, dim. "Don't ask me about trust, Prime," Prowl finally growled. "I'm not in a good place to offer any advice on trust right now."  
Jazz flinched. He turned away.  
Prime frowned. "You think we shouldn't trust the humans, then? That this is a trap?"  
Swallowing, Prowl refused to look up. "I've learned how dangerous it is to trust, Prime," he grunted. "You give up too much, with so much at risk." Tension pulsed through Jazz's quarters, vibrating the air. "Why are you even here?" Prowl's optics finally rose, piercing back into Prime's. "You don't want to give up pursuit, do you? And you're trying to find support."  
"Yes." Prime didn't hesitate, not faced with Prowl's barren optics. Prowl could always, always call him on his plans. "I can't imagine not bringing Megatron to justice."  
"There are so many things in this world that we can't imagine, Prime," Prowl croaked. "But they end up happening." Prowl stared at Jazz's back.  
"So I take it that's a 'no' from you, then?" Prime's voice was short, curt. This wasn't what he had been expecting.  
"You shouldn't be asking me," Prowl snapped back. "I'm barely an Autobot anymore, Prime. I don't know if I even hold a commission anymore." He shook his helm. "Or if I want to," he whispered.  
Silence, utterly still, filled Jazz's quarters. "I see," Prime finally said. "And you, Jazz?"  
"Like I said, Prime. I have different priorities now." He stroked a hand over Hope's blanket. "I'm happy to serve the crew, and you, in ways that I can. But what that means is different now."  
Finally, Prime straightened, realizing he was well past his welcome and that he probably shouldn't have come at all. "Well, I'll leave you two to it, then," he said, brushing himself off. "If you're resigning, I'll need to know soon. I need to fill ranks, especially if there will be a pursuit chase."  
"Prime," Jazz called softly. "I don't think that's a good idea for the crew. Can't we focus on the future? On the good we can do?"  
"Let me know by the end of the week what the status of your commissions is," Prime grunted. He ignored Jazz. "I'll … see you both later." Prime turned and fled. The closing of Jazz's quarters' doors sliced through the silence, harsh and final.  
"Prowl?" Jazz finally spoke. "Were you serious? About resigning?" He slowly turned to look at Prowl, peering across the deck.  
Prowl's optics slid shut. "Were you serious," Prowl grunted, "about everything you said?"  
"Yes." Jazz sighed. "Thing have changed for me, Prowl. I'm not the same mech I was before. I want no part of that, chasing after Megatron, chasing the 'Cons. That's not me anymore."  
"Don't stay behind because you think Hope will need you. I can take care of Hope while you follow your dream." Prowl refused to open his optics.  
"My dream isn't to chase Decepticons, Prowl."  
"Could have fooled me."  
"You are my dream." Jazz stood his ground, staring at Prowl, and refused to flinch.  
Prowl's optics slowly opened. He met Jazz's gaze from his far corner, harsh and cold.  
Swallowing, Jazz pressed on. "You are everything that I dream about, Prowl," Jazz whispered. "And I know I screwed everything up. I know I did. And I know how you feel about me, and I deserve it. I deserve every bit of your anger, and your hate." Jazz grunted, trying to stop his shaking vocalizer. "But you have to know. You have to know how much I love you, and how sorry I am." He chewed his lip.  
Prowl hadn't moved. His optics hadn't softened. "What do you want from me?" Prowl bit out in a whisper.  
"Prowl…" Jazz's vocalizer finally cracked. "What I want, I know you can't give me. Not anymore." He squeezed his optics shut and curled his arms around Hope, clinging to the last tie he had to Prowl. "I want you," Jazz whispered back. "I finally know what it is I've been searching for my whole life. I've finally found it, the reason for why I'm alive. I've been searching my whole life, always scratching and digging and trying to be better, trying to claw my way to some achievement that meant something. That meant I was worth being alive."  
"And that's Hope?" Prowl's hands clenched together, squeezing into a tight fist. "Now you want to be a parent?"  
Shaking his helm, Jazz stroked Hope's blanket. "It's not Hope, Prowl." He rocked gently, side to side, cradling Hope. "Hope is amazing," he breathed. "I never, not once, ever thought this would happen. Now that Hope is here, I'm beyond thankful that he is." Jazz pressed a light kiss to Hope's blanket-covered helm. "But loving you, Prowl, and being with you – being in love with you, and feeling your love for me – was the pinnacle of my life. That was it. That was what I was searching for. All that time, all those years, and I was waiting for you to remake my world. You changed everything, Prowl. Falling in love, really falling in love. Being loved, for me." Jazz smiled, though it was filled with sadness. "You are, without a doubt, the best thing that has ever happened in my life, Prowl." His smile turned to a grimace, and Jazz bit his lip. "And I would have screwed it up, one way or the other. I know I would have. I would have done something to run away, afraid, and mess it all up. Loving you was terrifying. I didn't know what was happening to me and why nothing made sense anymore." Finally, Jazz looked down, breaking optic contact with Prowl's harsh stare. "If I knew then what I know now…" he shook his helm. "I would never let you go."  
Perfect, terrible silence rang through the air. Jazz could hear his words echoing off the bulkheads. They fell and shattered to the decking, and his spark broke all over again. "I'm so sorry, Prowl," he mouthed. "And I love-"  
Prowl bolted to his feet, cutting Jazz off. "I can't do this," Prowl grunted. He strode to the door, doorwings stiff and straight.  
"Prowl-" Jazz reached for him, one hand outstretched.  
"I can't," Prowl choked through gritted denta, not looking at Jazz. He slipped through the doors, slapping the pad too-hard, and escaped into the corridor.  
Jazz stared after Prowl's shadow, feeling his spark sink to the base of his struts. The doors slid shut on his last strand of hope.

***

Prowl paced, turning in tight circles as he shuffled through the desert dust. His hands clenched and unclenched into fists, squeezing over and over. Vents ran hot and ragged, racing over his lips.  
When would he get here? What was taking so long?  
In the distance, a roaring engine led a plume of dust, growing larger and louder as both tore toward Prowl. Exhaling, Prowl finally stopped his pacing. He stood, bouncing on his pedes, hands still clenched into fists.  
Sunstreaker screamed to a stop, swerving just before Prowl. He transformed, rising from his alt mode with a deep frown furrowing his face. "Prowl?" Sunstreaker's optics roved over his friend, taking in all the exhaustion, all of the tension, and all of the fraught, frantic panic. "What's going on? What happened?"  
'Thank you for coming," Prowl choked out. Even now, he couldn't let go of his decorum, not to Sunstreaker. Not to – what had turned out to be – his closest friend. "I got your messages." Prowl rocked back and forth, his hands shaking. "I'm sorry I couldn't respond."  
Sunstreaker shook his helm. "Doesn't matter. You got 'em." Sunstreaker had been sending short messages to Prowl's comm every few days. Blunted words of encouragement, memories of Prowler's first days at home, tips for the first few nights. Sunstreaker had been grasping for some way to reach Prowl. "I hope it was okay," he grunted.  
"It meant a lot," Prowl whispered. He was trembling now, shaking from pedes to helm.  
Sunstreaker's frown deepened, and he reached for Prowl.  
"Primus!" Prowl suddenly shouted. "Why now? Why does he figure out he loves me now?" Prowl's balled hands rose to his helm, and he buried his face in his fists. "How can he say he loves me when he threw me away like that?" Prowl stared at Sunstreaker, pleading with his optics for answers.  
Frozen, Sunstreaker stared back open-mouthed. "Jazz said that?"  
Prowl nodded, glum. "He says I changed his life, and that he's never loved anyone else like he loved me."  
Sunstreaker snorted, hands on his hips. "Oh yeah? What does he want now?"  
"You think it's a lie?" Prowl chewed on his lip, but every other part of him had stilled, suddenly immobile.  
"Look what he did to you!" Sunstreaker shouted, hands flying wide. "You don't treat someone you love like that! That's not love!" Sunstreaker shoved his finger in Prowl's face. "That's total slag."  
"He was confused…" Prowl's optics were whitening, streaking with static.  
"Are you really buying this slag?" Sunstreaker snorted and shook his helm.  
"Didn't Sideswipe say the same things to you?" Prowl's breaths were harsh, and he spat his words angrily.  
"That's different…" Sunstreaker growled.  
"How?"  
"Because he meant them!" Sunstreaker bellowed. "And Jazz is a two-chip fragger who only thinks about himself! He made you feel worthless! He's the one who isn't worth a rusty nut, and the whole crew knows it!"  
Prowl froze. "The whole crew knows?"  
"It wasn't really a secret anymore after he collapsed on the Command Deck." Sunstreaker shifted away. "Mirage and 'Bee talked a little bit about what happened out on their mission. With you two breaking up, and how fragged you've been, it wasn't hard to figure out what happened." Sunstreaker left out the parts where he and Sideswipe had conversed long and hard with Mirage in the Rec room, finally piecing together both sides of the tragedy that had become Jazz and Prowl's failed relationship.  
"The crew loves Jazz," Prowl breathed.  
"No, they don't." Sunstreaker shook his helm. "He's not got a lot of friends right now. Feels like when 'Sides and me first came out." He swallowed and looked away. "Best thing for Jazz to do right now is find a long mission to disappear on." Sunstreaker peered at the sky, his optics narrow. "Never a 'Con around when you need one."  
Prowl offlined his optics and inhaled. Sunstreaker couldn't know about Optimus' visit. There was no way. He couldn't. "Sunstreaker," he started. His voice shook. "You had to make a choice, about Sideswipe. How… how did you do it?"  
Sunstreaker peered at Prowl for a long moment. "I listened to my friends," he finally said, his voice unnaturally soft. "And to my spark. And you all said that Sideswipe was true, and honest. And that he loved me." Sunstreaker's lips quirked, once. "And he does."  
"You took the chance, though. You risked being wrong. How did you do that, with everything …" Prowl trailed off, not mentioning the details of how Sideswipe had broken Sunstreaker's spark.  
Shaking his helm, Sunstreaker sighed. "I just did, Prowl. I sat on the floor of your office all night. It sucked slag. I didn't know what to do. But what did I want? A life with him, or a life without him?" Sunstreaker shrugged. "Being with him is worth more than everything else."  
"I knew Sideswipe loved you," Prowl whispered. "It was so obvious from the outside. I never thought the decision was actually that hard."  
Sunstreaker snorted.  
"I don't know what to do, Sunny." Prowl squeezed his optics shut. "I've been trying to get over him. I've been trying to move on. I don't want my life defined by this mistake." He shook his helm, his face suddenly breaking in anguish. "But I can't stop loving him! I can't stop wishing it were different! I don't want this to be a mistake!"  
"How much good did you two actually have?"  
"Enough," Prowl whispered. "Enough to want it back."  
"Enough to gamble your life on?" Sunstreaker watched Prowl carefully.  
It took a moment for Prowl to respond. "I don't know," he breathed. "He's offering me another chance, and part of me wants to grab him and never let go, and another part of me wants to run away and never see him again. I want to throttle him and I want to kiss him. I want to sob and scream and rage, and…." Prowl gasped, nearly sobbing. "How can I trust him? How can I trust anything anymore? The whole universe has gone fragged!"  
Exhaling, Sunstreaker remained silent. He shook his helm. "I know that feeling, Prowl," Sunstreaker grunted.  
"And?" Prowl's optics pleaded with Sunstreaker.  
"And it sucks."  
Prowl's optics slid shut. "Yeah," he whispered. "I wish I didn't have to face any of this. Maybe I need that long mission away from here."  
"The crew wants you more than they want Jazz."  
Prowl snorted, choking on a laugh for the first time in what felt like forever. "The crew doesn't care about me that much."  
"You're wrong." Sunstreaker smirked at Prowl's quizzical expression. "The crew is all on your side.  
Prowl's half-smile faded. "I don't want to do this," he breathed. "I don't want to make this decision."  
Sunstreaker squared himself in front of Prowl. He reached out, resting both hands on Prowl's shoulders. Once, over a year ago, Prowl had done the same thing for Sunstreaker. "You are going to have to decide, Prowl," Sunstreaker grunted. "What do you want?"  
Prowl's trembles returned full force. He exhaled and clenched his hands again, gritting his denta. "I never gave you enough credit for this choice," he grunted.  
"For what it's worth…" Sunstreaker stepped back. "The choice looks obvious from here."  
Prowl buried his face in his hands as Sunstreaker dropped into his Lambo form and sped away. Dust sprayed over Prowl's armor, lancing through his plating and striking at the core of his fractured spark.

***

"Alright, this is the final schedule." Ratchet slid a data pad across his desk to Wheeljack. "We'll call them in one at a time. I want to run these full spectrum scans on all critical systems. I'm not letting another tank burst."  
Nodding, Wheeljack scrolled through the display. Ratchet had put the partnered mechs and mechs he was willing to bet would be thinking about – or thinking about thinking about – starting a family near to the front of the line. "It won't happen again, Ratch." Wheeljack met Ratchet's gaze. "We'll take care of everyone."  
"With this, we will."  
"You don't still blame yourself, do you?"  
Ratchet looked away. "I should have been doing more thorough scans. I never dreamed mechs would start having sparklings, and it just never occurred to me to scan for structural damage in the mechs' gestational tanks."  
"Everything was a surprise," Wheeljack tried to reassure his partner. "No one could have ever dreamed that Sunstreaker would be the first new parent. And if anyone was going to have structural damage, I would have bet on him!"  
Ratchet shook his helm. "His frame is built tougher. He's made for a rougher life than Jazz. Jazz, for all his finesse, is delicate in places. He's survived this long because he's an excellent combatant. But, in this…" He sighed. "I should have been better about scanning the mechs."  
"No one blames you, Ratch."  
"We don't know how Hope will end up, 'Jack." Ratchet frowned. "I don't know if he'll have processor damage, or disabilities that we can't forsee yet. I'm not a pediatrician. This is all new to me."  
Wheeljack's audial fins flashed brightly. "For not being a sparkling-doc, you are certainly doing a fantastic job. We'd had two sparklings, both with crazy complicated surgeries, and both have survived, Ratch." He tilted his helm. "Give yourself some credit?"  
"I want all of them to be perfectly healthy," Ratchet grumbled.  
"They will be." Wheeljack reached for Ratchet's hand and squeezed. "Hey. I didn't see your name on this list."  
Slowly, Ratchet met Wheeljack's optics. His lips parted, dropping open, and he frowned. "…'Jack?"  
"I'd like to make sure you're perfectly safe, Ratchet," Wheeljack said softly. "Perfectly safe for when you're ready to start our family."  
"Our family?"  
"You asked me once if I would consider having sparklings with you, Ratchet." Wheeljack tilted his head, his optics crinkling with happiness. "I more than consider it. It's what I want, more than anything. I want to have a family with you. And with only you."  
"Wheeljack…"  
"When you're ready, I'm ready." Wheeljack squeezed Ratchet's hands again, lacing their fingers together.  
Ratchet smiled. His whole face transformed, gnawing worry melting and shifting into stunned, quiet happiness. "Let's start these scans."

***

Mirage stared wide-optic'd over Hope's bundled body, recharging in his mini-berth. "He's so tiny," Mirage breathed helplessly.  
Jazz nodded, bustling around his quarters. He was finally cleaning, picking up empty cubes and stacking the stores of energon and additives in their rightful places in his shelves. Prowl was a neat mech, and for as long as he'd been there, the place had been a disaster. Jazz wasn't sure how much longer Prowl was going to be rooming with him, but for the time being, he was going to work to make Prowl feel welcome.  
It was the least he could do.  
Jazz had called Mirage shortly after Prowl had stormed out. He was suddenly uncomfortable with being alone, and the oppressive walls of his quarters loomed large, shutting him in. Mirage, nearly bowled over with shock at Jazz's comm, had arrived immediately, and was promptly placed on sparkling-watching duty. Hope was recharging soundly and wouldn't wake, but Jazz still wanted optics on him. Hope was still on medbay monitoring, after all.  
"I can't believe it," Mirage breathed again. He shook his helm and reached out with one finger, gently tracing over the blankets. "It's a miracle."  
"It's Ratchet and Wheeljack's hard work." Jazz stretched, reaching for the higher shelves on his walls, and felt a pull deep inside. He lowered himself quickly. He still wasn't fully healed, and the internal struts Ratchet and Wheeljack had built for him hadn't seated completely in his frame. "They saved his life."  
"And yours." Mirage watched Jazz limp slightly. "How are you doing?"  
"Healing." Jazz shrugged. "Slowly, but healing."  
Mirage shot Jazz a look. "How are you really doing?"  
Jazz stopped pretending to sort the empty cubes in front of him. "You were right, Mirage," he whispered. "About everything. I did ruin the best thing in my life."  
Mirage sighed. "You can't say we didn't try to warn you."  
Nodding, Jazz turned. He grimaced. "I know. I did this all on my own. Just… blew it all up."  
"The… crew knows," Mirage said, hesitating.  
"Oh yeah?"  
Mirage nodded silently.  
"All on Prowl's side?"  
Again, Mirage nodded.  
"AS they should be," Jazz breathed. He dropped the cubes he was holding and sank down, leaning against his desk. "Maybe I should just disappear. Prowl doesn't want me around at all. I'm just hurting him."  
"What about Hope?"  
Jazz's face screwed up, anguished and angry and agonized all at once. "Prowl is a much better parent than I am."  
"Jazz…." Mirage's voice held a warning tone, low and deep. "What are you thinking?"  
Before Jazz could answer, the quarter's doors slid open, cutting off the conversation. Prowl stood in the doorway, stiff and immobile, his face carved of stern conviction. Prowl's optics darted over Mirage, and the barest surprise flitted across his expression.  
"Mirage," Prowl said, nodding.  
Mirage waved back as he stood. "Hi, Prowl," he called. "Just watching Hope while Jazz was picking up. I'll leave you two be…" Mirage trailed off, skating out the door as he realized that neither Jazz nor Prowl was actually listening to him anymore.  
Jazz fingered the cube in his hands, not looking at Prowl. "I'm sorry for how messy the quarters have gotten," he said softly. "I don't know how long you're planning on staying, but I promise to keep this place cleaner for you."  
Prowl was silent.  
"We should discuss our commissions," Jazz pressed on. "And work schedules. And… shared custody." End over end, the cube tipped in his hands.  
"Jazz," Prowl began. He cleared his throat, trying to clear the static in his voice. "I want to ask you a question," he began. "There's…" His words choked, breaking. "There's a fair going on right now, a few counties over. There's a cover band there." Prowl was shaking all over, and he squeezed his optics shut, clenched his hands, gritted his denta. "They're playing the same songs we danced to a year ago."  
Finally, Prowl opened his optics, and he met Jazz's dumbstruck gaze. "I was wondering if you wanted to go…?" His voice trailed off into a whisper, breathless and empty.  
Jazz couldn't breathe. He didn't, and couldn't, move. He jaw was slack, fallen open, and he stared at Prowl. "With you?" Jazz breathed.  
"Yes," Prowl whispered. "With me."  
"Prowl…." Jazz mouthed. His optics fractured, static streaking from his visor. "Prowl…" He couldn't say anything else, just breathed Prowl's name as he fell to his knees, fell to his floor, and crouched in a heap of frayed nerves and broken spark. "Primus, Prowl…." Rocking back and forth, Jazz sobbed, vents heaving through his lines, igniting his systems. "Prowl, yes, please, Prowl, please…" Sobbing, breathless, Jazz pitched forward, rocking his forehead against the decking.  
Slowly, Prowl reached for Jazz, resting his trembling hand gently on the back of Jazz's helm.

***

Fuming, Sunstreaker crossed his arms and glowered while Sideswipe pressed at Jazz's doorchime.  
"Sunny," Sideswipe chided. "We should be supportive."  
"Jazz is a fragger," Sunstreaker growled.  
Sideswipe sighed hard. ::Out of everyone, we should be the most supportive of second chances.::  
Sunstreaker's optics narrowed. He didn't respond as the doors slid open, revealing Prowl – wound tight with tension and doorwings arched high – waiting for them both.  
"Hi guys," Prowl sighed. He relaxed, fractionally. "I'm really glad to see you both." He managed a tired smile.  
"Prowl!" Sideswipe beamed and grasped at Prowl's arm, squeezing in a one-handed awkward hug. "You need us to sparkling-sit tonight?"  
"Just for a few hours." Prowl motioned them both inside. Sunstreaker wouldn't meet Prowl's optics and he continued to glower as he peered around Jazz's dark quarters.  
"Hey," Jazz called out quietly from across the room. He was sitting on the couch, gently rocking Hope back into recharge after his pipette feeding. The twins both turned, meeting Jazz's gaze, but Prowl kept his optics averted.  
On a date the two of them might be headed, but the afternoon, following Prowl's question and Jazz's sobbing collapse, had been a return to the tense and distant silence that had solidly fixed itself between the two. Jazz's spark plummeted every hour, watching and waiting as Prowl grew more and more tense, and the silence seemed to thicken and choke the air. Finally, the twins had been summoned, but Prowl hadn't said two words to Jazz since.  
Sideswipe nearly raced to Jazz, eager to see Hope. Despite himself, Sunstreaker followed, and the two bracketed Jazz on the couch. Their optics widened, jaws dropping, as they first spotted the tiny, premature sparkling, and the portable monitor fixed to Hope's blankets. "Primus, Jazz…" Sideswipe breathed. "He's a miracle."  
Swallowing, Jazz nodded. "Yeah," he choked out. "I know."  
"There isn't any other mech that I would trust Hope with," Prowl called out from across the room. "Except you two."  
"He's right," Jazz whispered. Carefully, Jazz started showing the twins Hope's intricate care: the hourly pipette feedings, the carefully-wrapped blankets for warmth, the mobile medbay monitor, and the oxygen pump helping him to breathe and to keep his engine fired. He carefully checked Hope's optic seals, explaining the darkened lights in his quarters. Throughout it all, Sideswipe sat rapt, motionless, and Sunstreaker kept his optics fixed on Hope's tiny frame.  
Prowl listened, never saying a word.  
In the end, Jazz gently transferred Hope to Sunstreaker's arms. Sunstreaker cradled Hope to his chest, more gentle than he had ever been with Prowler. One hand cupped around Hope's wrapped helm, and his thumb stroked the blankets next to his cheek.  
Jazz had a hard time letting go of Hope. He rose, finally, and crossed the room to Prowl's side.  
Prowl still wouldn't look at him, instead watching the twins. "We'll be back soon," Prowl said softly. "Only a few hours."  
"Take your time." Sideswipe smiled. "Really. Smokescreen and Blue have Prowler for the night."  
Finally, Prowl cracked a tiny smile. "Incredible," he whispered. "You two are amazing."  
"Get going," Sideswipe smiled. "We'll be fine."  
Nodding, Prowl turned. He paused, waiting for Jazz to step beside him, and then strode for the doors.

***

Still not a word.  
Jazz stared at his pedes as he walked next to Prowl. This didn't bode well. Why even bother, if the end result was going to be so terrible? This was torture, teasing him with the possibility of what could have been.  
The corridors wound around, and in no time at all, they were in front of the Ark entrance. By some minor miracle, they hadn't run into another mech, but Jazz guessed that had more to do with Prowl timing their excursion for the midshift, when the mechs wouldn't be roaming the halls. Dread pooled in Jazz's tanks. How could he get through another two hours of stiff-laced silence?  
All at once, Prowl drew up short. He squeezed his optics shut and swallowed, looking down at the decking.  
Jazz stared, dejected. "Don't want to go?" he whispered.  
Silence, as a flurry of emotions tore across Prowl's face. He scrunched up his optics, twisting his face, and finally, a gust of air pushed out his vents. "I'm nervous," Prowl whispered. He opened his optics and met Jazz's gaze. "I'm so incredibly nervous."  
Jazz's mouth dropped open. "Me too," he finally whispered back.  
"I don't know if I can do this." Prowl shook his helm. He bit his lip. "I'm still so angry. At you, at the humans… And I'm about to go out into public, with you, into the humans' world again." Chuckling humorlessly, Prowl shook his helm. "I'm about to fly apart."  
"Do you not want to go?" Jazz averted his gaze, trying to sound like his spark wasn't riding on the answer.  
Now, Prowl wouldn't look away from Jazz. Jazz could feel his optics tracing the lines of his profile. He swallowed, his gears rising and falling in his throat.  
"I want to try," Prowl breathed. "But you have to know how I feel. How nervous I am. And how uncertain I am. About everything."  
Jazz nodded fiercely. "I know. And… I understand. I really do." He forced a smile, turning back to Prowl. "And, actually, I'm glad you told me. Isn't that what we need more of? Honest communication?"  
A slow smile bloomed across Prowl's face, small, but there. "Yeah," he breathed. "That's exactly what we need."  
"Thank you, then, for telling me." Jazz motioned toward the Ark's entrance. "I am ready to try with you."  
Prowl dropped into his alt mode and started forward, waiting for Jazz at the blast doors. Side by side, the two drove the hour's ride into the next county in silence, letting the evening coolness slip around their armor and the fresh air fill their vents. Eight weeks they had been locked up in their quarters, and the grit, the dirt, the night air, and the crisp edge of potential sang across their circuits.  
The fair hadn't changed in the year since their first date. The humans' reactions had, though. Prowl tensed as they drove near, but the humans swarmed the two with happy faces and cheerful waves, thanking the Autobots for their service and for protecting them from the aliens beyond their system. Not all were delighted, and dark eyeballs lingered in the distance, but for the most part, the humans were welcoming. Prowl tried to relax as he led Jazz around to the amphitheater, but the memories of his breathless excitement a year ago tore through his spark, and he fought back a sob as they finally arrived at the stage.  
Suspiciously quiet next to Prowl, Jazz didn't say a word, didn't press, and stood silent and still as the band finished their last warm ups.  
When the band started, the music was warm, and fun, and finally loosened up the stiffness locking Jazz and Prowl apart. Jazz started to sway, then to shuffle, and Prowl couldn't help but grin as he watched Jazz try to dance without shaking the amphitheater, as he had done a year ago. The songs played on, one bleeding into the next, and finally, a slow song belted out over the strings of the electric guitar. Long, wailing notes cried over the crowd, and Jazz stood stiffly next to Prowl. They both carefully avoided looking at each other, or touching. They had first danced together just like that, in this same way, one year ago.  
After, Prowl fumbled asking if Jazz wanted to walk around, and Jazz, thinking Prowl was ready to head back, asked if he was ready to go. Awkward silence stretched long as each struggled to answer with whatever the other wanted first.  
Finally, Prowl spoke, breaking Jazz's choked apology. "I'm not ready to go back yet," he confessed. "I need more time… with you."  
Jazz beamed and motioned for the carnival area. "I'm all yours."  
They ended up, after meandering, at a straw-hewn dance floor underneath a towering Ferris Wheel and next to a giant red barn. The lights from the Ferris Wheel glittered and twinkled, illuminating the dance floor as the live fiddle band struck up another tune.  
Whether it was fate, or chance, or some terrible tragedy, the song Prowl and Jazz had danced to on this very dance floor one year before began. The opening chords tore across Prowl's spark, raking over his memories, and he could practically feel Jazz, warm and laughing, in his arms.  
"Want to go?" Jazz whispered.  
"Want to dance?" Prowl held out his hand.  
For the first time in six months, Jazz took Prowl's hand, gently caressing his plating. He gasped, trembling, as Prowl pulled Jazz close and wrapped one arm around his waist. Jazz melted into Prowl's hold, gripping his hand and his shoulder as his feet fumbled and he lost his footing, suddenly graceless as Prowl took the lead.  
They knew the steps by memory, replaying the dance they shared a year prior. Jazz squeezed his optics shut, offlining them as he buried his face in Prowl's neck. He gave himself entirely to Prowl, letting Prowl lead, letting Prowl's hand hold him close, and letting the feel of Prowl's body warm his plating. Primus, but he wanted to sob, to scream, to never, ever let go.  
The song slowed, drawing to a close. Jazz gripped Prowl, not ready for the moment to end.  
A slow drawl purred from the lead fiddle, warm, loving notes suddenly pouring from the band. Soulful, and begging for love, the slower song called to every lover pair in the fair, and the floor was suddenly filled with dancers.  
"Prowl…" Jazz breathed. He couldn't move, couldn't pull his face from the crook of Prowl's neck.  
Prowl tightened his grip around Jazz, pulling him closer. "Dance with me," Prowl whispered into Jazz's audial. Carefully, Prowl swayed Jazz, pulling him close until their plating was clasped together, from helm to pede, and all the spaces between them had been obliterated. Shaking, Jazz couldn't hold back a sob, and he gasped against Prowl's neck.  
Prowl pressed his lips against Jazz's audial. "Jazz," he breathed. "I'm ready to try."

 

**Two Months Later**

 

Prowler bounded down the corridor, happily moving on his own two feet. He laughed out loud at his own pace, racing ahead of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.  
"He's taking after you," Sideswipe teased his brother. "All that need for speed."  
Sunstreaker snorted. "That's all you."  
Prowler pulled to a stop at the Rec room doors. He turned, looking questioningly at his parents. Sideswipe nodded, and Prowler grinned again, then started banging on the doors with his open palms.  
"He gets that from you," Sunstreaker quipped. "Always has to make an entrance."  
Laughing, Sideswipe pressed the palm pad for the Rec room and finally let Prowler in. Prowler took off the moment he could, racing on his little feet to the center of the room, and to the bustling crowd of mechs gathered together.  
As the crew spotted Prowler running toward them, cheers and applause rang out. "One, two, three!" Hound shouted over the shouting, and suddenly, the crew was singing in unison, "Happy Birthday." Prowler shrieked with delight, jumping up and down in a circle and shouting nonsense noise in time with the singing.  
"… _Happy Birthday to Prowler… Happy Birthday to you!_ "  
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker stood speechless, motionless, as the crew broke out into raucous applause once again. "What the…" Sideswipe fumbled for words as Smokescreen, Hound, Mirage, and Bluestreak circled the twins. Prowler was making a beeline for Wheeljack, back to his mission after the song ended.  
"We know you guys threw this together for Hope," Hound grinned. "But we got to thinking. Prowler has never had any kind of celebration. We're a bit late, but we wanted to celebrate his one year emergence."  
"Congratulations," Mirage added, beaming.  
"Guys…." Sideswipe tried to swallow down the lump in his throat.  
"Thanks," Sunstreaker grunted, taking over for Sideswipe. He even smiled, in his own way – tiny and wry.  
"Hey, guess what?" Smokescreen practically bounced up and down as his optics glittered. "Prime accepted our proposal."  
"Really?" Sideswipe grinned wide. "That's awesome!"  
"Yep!" Smokescreen nodded brightly. "He's letting me, Perceptor, Skyfire, Wheeljack, and Blaster all share in the management and teaching of an actual school for the sparklings."  
"Both of them?" Sunstreaker quipped.  
"For now." Mirage grinned, sly. Sideswipe's optics boggled, and he tried to speak. Mirage cut him off. "So, Blue, what about you and Smokey?" Mirage winked at Smokescreen.  
"What?" Bluestreak, standing too close to Smokescreen, jumped back. "What are you talking about? I have no idea what you're talking about, not at all."  
Everyone, even Sunstreaker, laughed. "Blue, you don't have to hide it," Hound said. "We're happy for you and Smokey."  
Smokescreen beamed and wound his arm through Bluestreak's, locking their elbows together. Flummoxed, Bluestreak gaped at Hound, then at Smokescreen, and then at the group at large.  
"We're very happy, too," Smokescreen finished for Bluestreak. He pressed a kiss to the gunner's cheek, and everyone watched as Bluestreak's optics turned soft and a smile broke over his face.  
"Awww," Sideswipe melted.  
"Get a room," Sunstreaker grumbled. Hound punched at Sunstreaker's shoulder, and Sunstreaker playfully shoved back. Hound dropped into a boxer stance, and the two were play fighting and slap-grabbing at each other's helms within ten seconds.  
Mirage and Sideswipe arched their optic ridges at each other. "Some things don't ever change, do they?" Mirage chuckled.  
"So, where are Jazz and Prowl?" Sideswipe tried to peer through the crowd of mechs, but it seemed like every single mech on board was in the Rec room that night. Made sense, though. There was a lot to celebrate. Hope was fully functional and progressing rapidly, Jazz and Prowl were both back on light duty, and rotating shifts to share their parenting duties to both Hope and to the crew. And ground had finally been broken on Moon Base 1, near the Ocean of Storms on the Moon.  
"Far side," Mirage pointed. Sideswipe still couldn't see them. "Wheeljack and Ratchet were with them. I'd follow Prowler's shouts."  
Laughing, Sideswipe dragged Sunstreaker away from a playful chokehold on Hound. "See you guys later!"  
Sunstreaker wrapped his arm around Sideswipe's waist and pressed a kiss to the top of his helm as the two wound their way through the crowd of mechs, following the happy laughs and shouts of their sparkling. Mechs waved and called out greetings, and Sideswipe responded in kind. Sunstreaker nodded every so often, jutting his chin out in his silent hello.  
As they drew closer, Wheeljack's _vroom vroom_ noises could be heard, and the two found Prowler chasing Wheeljack as the inventor ran around on his hands and knees, weaving around Ratchet and Prowl's legs and around Jazz's chair.  
"Good, Wheeljack!" Sideswipe called. "Please, tire him out!"  
Laughing, Wheeljack spun on Prowler and playfully tackled him, rolling Prowler in his arms as Wheeljack rose to his feet. "You're getting heavy!" Wheeljack huffed. "Why are you growing up?" Still, he raised Prowler up over his helm, spinning him around before pulling Prowler in for a hug. Prowler settled himself in on Wheeljack's hips, and his hands grasped at his audial fins.  
Ratchet watched silently, beaming.  
Prowl laughed aloud. "You're amazing, Wheeljack." He shook his helm. "Hard to believe you almost dropped Prowler when you first tried to hold him." Next to Prowl, Jazz chuckled. He gently bounced Hope, who was online and watching the activity with wide – and fully functional – optics.  
"He was slippery!" Wheeljack protested. He bounced Prowler on his hip, buzzing funny noises against his blast mask as he turned back to Prowler. "What say you we go and terrorize Uncle Ironhide, huh?" Prowler grinned, bouncing at Ironhide's name. Wheeljack waved and headed across the room, zeroing in on Ironhide's unawares backside.  
"I think he kidnapped our sparkling," Sideswipe chuckled.  
"As long as he bring him back later, preferably solidly in recharge, I'm cool with it." Sunstreaker smiled, soft and gentle, just for Sideswipe.  
Sideswipe grinned back, then turned to Prowl and Jazz. "Congrats!" he grinned.  
"Thank you, Sideswipe. For everything." Prowl beamed at the red twin, one hand stroking over Jazz's backplates. "This is amazing. You didn't need to throw us a party."  
Sideswipe waved his praise off. "You guys are amazing. And Hope is amazing. This is nothing."  
"No argument there," Jazz piped up. "Both my mechs are amazing." He shared a long, warm look with Prowl, unspoken words flying between their gentle expressions.  
Next to Sideswipe, Ratchet pulled Sunstreaker away. "So…" Ratchet began, speaking softly. "Would you happen to have any… advice, Sunny?" At Sunstreaker's blank look, Ratchet pressed on. "For a mech who is carrying?"  
Sunstreaker's mouth dropped open and his optics blazed. The raw shock blitzing through his bond with Sideswipe caused Sideswipe to whip around. The red twin gasped, speaking way-too-loudly, "Holy slag, Ratchet! You're sparked!"  
Helms all around whipped around, staring at the group. Prowl and Jazz beamed, twin smiles stretching their faces. "Go doc!" Trailbreaker hooted.  
"Keep it down, will ya?" Ratchet snapped, but he couldn't shake his grin. "We only just found out this morning."  
Sunstreaker was actually smiling, a real smile, wide and beaming. "Congratulations, Ratchet." Sideswipe couldn't speak, and instead bounced from pede to pede.  
"You both will be great," Jazz called. Shifting, he passed Hope gently to Prowl, then stood. He wrapped an arm around Prowl's waist as Prowl tucked Hope into his arms. Hope's optics were still fixated on the party, taking everything in. Finally settled, Prowl wrapped an arm around Jazz as well, holding him tight. "Hope and Prowler are going to need some playmates."  
"And schoolmates, apparently," Sunstreaker grunted.  
"I suspect there will be a lot more sparklings to come." Sideswipe spied Hound and Mirage across the Rec room, and Hound's hand resting on Mirage's abdomen. Next to them, Bluestreak was failing at not looking smitten as Smokescreen laughed out loud.  
"This is the time to enjoy such pursuits," Prime's suddenly said from behind Sideswipe. "Ratchet, my deepest congratulations."  
The mechs smiled as Ratchet awkwardly accepted Prime's congratulations. Ratchet had never been good with compliments, and he fumbled even the simplest of thanks.  
"You five have been pivotal in the transition of ourselves from a culture of war into a culture of the future." Prime fixed each of the mech's with his optics in turn. "And for that, I thank you, from the bottom of my spark."  
Prowl and Jazz smiled first at Prime, then at each other, and Jazz pressed a kiss to Prowl's cheek. Sideswipe elbowed Sunstreaker as Prowl's optics dimmed and a smile spread over his face. ::We have to tease him about that later.::  
::Nah.:: Sunstreaker wrapped Sideswipe up in his arms, standing behind his brother and looking over his shoulder at the room full of mechs. ::I know how he feels.::  
Sideswipe laced Sunstreaker's fingers through his and squeezed. Next to them, Prowl and Jazz were arm in arm, holding Hope close, and Ratchet was radiating joy as he watched Wheeljack play with Prowler, their own sparkling taking form inside him. Behind them all, Prime watched over the crew, a content and peaceful smile finally playing over his lips.  
::I love you, Sunny.::  
::I know.::


End file.
